Hitting Walls and Getting Scars
by abni
Summary: Just after 'Skin', Dean discovers something about Sam that leads Sam to a confession about a hunt gone terribly wrong. HurtDean, HurtSam. Angst. NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: My first fanfic__ A huge, heartfelt THANK YOU goes out to my beta and mentor MuffyMorrigan, without whose guidance and unwavering support and encouragement I would never have found the courage to write let alone post anything. _

_The title of this story comes from Lindsey Haun's wonderful song 'Broken'. I own neither the song nor Supernatural. _

_The story takes place shortly after the final scene of 'Skin'._

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter One**

When they got back to the motel, Sam called first shower, wanting to wash away the blood and sweat from his fight with the shapeshifter. Coming out of the bathroom, he found Dean sitting on his bed, their first aid kit open beside him.

'Shirt off,' Dean said.

'Come again?' Sam looked at him.

'You heard me. I saw the way you moved when you got out of the Impala just now. You've got a couple of bruised ribs, perhaps even broken. And I'm not risking you puncturing a lung. Shirt off!'

Knowing an impenetrable wall when he faced one, Sam huffed with annoyance (which received only an unsympathetic 'Suck it up, little brother' from Dean), then slowly pulled off his shirt, trying to hide the instinctive wince when he raised his arms. He waited for the reaction he knew would come; he'd already seen the darkening bruises in the bathroom mirror.

Only all he got was silence.

Surprised, he looked over his shoulder at Dean, who just stood there looking at him with a frozen look on his face. 'Dude. You're staring. It's just busted ribs. Nothing you haven't seen before,' Sam said.

Slowly, Dean reached out a hand, gently touching Sam's side. 'When did you get this?' he said.

Sam, puzzled, looked down at where Dean's hand lay.

And felt the blood drain from his face.

_Oh God, I'd forgotten all about that scar. Please, Dean, I can't go there, not today, not after seeing Rebecca again. Not after realising that I can never go back. That I never fit in. That among them, I'm as much a freak as that shapeshifter, changing myself to hide the dark truth beneath._

'Sam?' He felt Dean's hand on his shoulder and realised that he'd been staring into space for a couple of minutes.

'Dean… Some other time, OK?'

'No, Sam. It looks terrible. I'm wrapping your ribs, then you're talking. That is one nasty scar – that's got to be what, 8 inches? And what kind of incompetent fool sewed it up? It looks more like me doing cross stitching than the work of a nurse!'

Realising that Dean was going into full protective-big-brother mode, wanting to find someone to blame (Hell, preferably HURT) for the nasty, jagged scar that he had just discovered on his little brother, Sam tried to placate him.

'I did,' he said softly, hoping the confession would be enough to make Dean let it go.

'What? What did you say?' Dean's voice rose a note.

_OK, that went well. Any other bright ideas now you're at it_, Sam thought.

'I said I did it,' Sam said, a pleading look in his eyes. _Please, Dean, just let it go_.

'You did it?'

'Yeah.'

'You sewed that up? On your own?'

'Yeah.'

'Where? When? WHY?'

'Dean…'

Dean held up a hand, picking up the painkillers from the first aid kit and pressing two into Sam's hand, then handing him a bottle of water.

'Take these.' Then he started to wrap up Sam's ribs.

'Dean…' Sam looked at Dean, his fatigue evident in his eyes.

'OK. But tomorrow, you're talking!'

Sam sighed, realising there was no way Dean was going to let this go.

_How come when something's happened to him, he's perfectly happy to stow it away and lock it up forever, while if he discovers the tiniest scratch on me, he's going all mother-hen on me?_

Dean finished wrapping up Sam's ribs, then he pointed towards Sam's bed. 'Get some rest. I'm gonna hit the shower – hope you've left me some hot water, princess,' the soft tone in his voice belying the seemingly harsh words.

Sam laid down, and even before Dean had the shower running, he was fast asleep, the painkillers having finished what his exhaustion started.

He didn't even feel Dean pulling the comforter up over his shoulder, nor did he see the look of concern that crossed Dean's face as he did so. And he didn't see the look of anger that replaced it; anger at the thought of someone or something hurting his little brother when he wasn't around to prevent it or retaliate.

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_Maybe you know Zach as well as he knows you._

_You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they'd be freaked!_

_I just don't tell them everything._

_Yeah, that's called lying, Sam._

_You're my brother, and I'd die for you. But there are some things that I need to keep to myself._

_You killed her! You killed Jessica!_

_Me? I know I'm a freak. That sooner or later, everybody's gonna leave me._

_You left… Dad ditched me too… Left me here with your sorry ass._

_You know, truth is, even at Stanford__, deep down I never really fit in._

_Well, that's because you're a freak._

_That's because you're a freak_.

_That's because you're a freak._

The words echoed in Sam's mind when he woke up with a gasp. Quickly checking the bed beside him, he breathed a sigh of relief that for once, his nightmare hadn't woken up Dean. But then, this time the nightmare hadn't been the usual one. This time, he hadn't woken up screaming Jessica's name. This time, the nightmare had been about him. The freak. The one who doesn't fit in anywhere. Who carries a secret so dark that even the one closest to him is bound to leave if he ever reveals it. The one who's been lying to everybody for the last four years – strike that, he'd been lying all his life. He'd never fit in anywhere, was always trying to be what others wanted him to be, what circumstances required he become, never showing what he felt himself to be. With his family, he'd been trying to become the hunter that his Dad wanted; at school he'd been trying to hide the truth about what he and his family did. Because telling the truth in either place was bound to leave him alone, friendless and without family.

He tried to force the thoughts from his mind, but the old fear and pain resurfaced, leaving him feeling slightly panicked. It took a few hours until he'd finally calmed down enough to go back to sleep.

The next morning, Sam woke up to the smell of coffee. Surprised, he opened his eyes to find Dean sitting at the table, two paper cups of coffee and a plate of donuts on the table before him.

'Morning, Sunshine. Ready to grace us with your presence?' Dean said.

Sam groaned. The coffee on the table obviously wasn't Dean's first cup of the day.

'Ha ha. Since when do you get up this early anyway?'

'Dude – it's almost 11. You've slept for 12 hours. But I guess you need your beauty sleep. Me, on the other hand…'

'Bite me,' Sam groaned.

'Nah, not that hungry. Seriously – how are you feeling?'

Sam rose stiffly from the bed. 'I'll live. Nothing I haven't tried before.'

'Good. Because you're talking now.'

Sam sighed. 'Figured you'd say that. Can I at least have my coffee first?'

Dean, recognising Sam's stalling manoeuvre for what it was, pushed the coffee towards him along with the bottle of painkillers and a glass of water.

'Sure. But then I want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,' he said with a smile, but the smile quickly faded when he saw Sam flinch slightly at his words.

Sam quickly recovered, flashing him a small smile. 'Sure you can handle it, Dean?'

'Funny, Sam. Very funny. Now spill.'

Sam looked at him, then looked down at his hands slowly turning the paper cup before him.

'Well, it was not long after I left for Stanford…'

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Past

Palo Alto

Sam was sitting at his desk, looking out the window. He'd been sitting there, unmoving, for half an hour, when he finally made a decision and picked up his phone. He dialled a well-known number and waited nervously for it to be picked up.

'Yes?' a male voice said.

'Pastor Jim? It's Sam – Sam Winchester.'

'Why, hello, Samuel! It's good to hear from you. How are you doing? I hear you're at Stanford now – congratulations on the full ride!' Pastor Jim said, the use of his full name bringing a smile to Sam's face. It reminded him of countless days spent in Blue Earth, Minnesota, throughout their childhood and teenage years. Pastor Jim was the one person on the planet who had never used the abbreviated form 'Sammy' that Sam had grown to hate once he'd passed the age of twelve.

'Thank you, Pastor Jim. And I'm doing fine, thank you. Just settling in, figuring out how everything works, you know. But, well… you've probably heard how Dad reacted when I told him… I was wondering… do you know how they are? What they're doing?' Sam tried to keep the tension out of his voice while getting out the questions.

'Yes, I heard. But I actually heard that they're heading towards California, towards Palo Alto, so perhaps Dean has managed to talk some sense into your father,' Jim replied.

'They are? Do you know when they might be arriving here?' The hope mixed with anxiety was palpable in his voice this time.

'Well, I heard that they expected to arrive today or tomorrow, actually.'

'Today?' Sam said, his mind reeling. He quickly ended the call, then resumed his staring out the window with unseeing eyes, hope fighting with reason and even fear in his mind.

_They're here? They're actually here? Could it be… but no, Dad would never – when has he ever gone back on his word? But Jim said… Perhaps Dean? But there's no way he'd come see me without Dad's permission. No. It's probably a hunt. I just hope Dad's not planning to hunt ME down to bring me back. So not going to happen. And after all, Dad, you did give me permission to leave, so I'm not actually AWOL, am I? 'If you go, you stay gone', you said. And I will. I'm not part of your little Winchester army anymore. I'm through with all that. I just wish it didn't mean leaving Dean…_

At the thought of Dean, he felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and forced them back where they belonged. Unspilled. Unseen.

Forcing thoughts of regret from his mind, he instead started researching strange occurrences in the area, and sure enough, he soon found an article describing the puzzling death of a 40-year-old male in his newly-purchased mansion about 20 miles from Palo Alto. _Knew it. It was too good to be true._ He ignored the sudden burning in his eyes and started reading the article. The 'puzzling' part of the man's demise didn't concern establishing the cause of death – the multiple external and internal injuries that the man had suffered offered plenty potential explanations for that. Furthermore, the way that he got these injuries also seemed quite obvious; the damage to his body being consistent with a fall from a substantial height, and forensic evidence from the scene proved that he had, in fact fallen from ceiling height in the exact spot where he was found.

Only problem was, that 'spot' was in the exact middle of the hall of the mansion in question; a hall that had no windows or other openings in the ceiling, and where the staircases ran along the walls at least 100 feet from where the body was found. In other words, unless the man had been flying, there was no way he could have ended up in that exact spot with these injuries.

Only he had.

'The investigation is ongoing,' the article succinctly ended.

_I bet it is_, Sam thought. He brought up a map of the area, pinpointed the location of the mansion as well as the nearest town, then leaned back in his chair to stare out at the now-darkening evening sky.

_Should I do this? What if they're really just here for the hunt? What if he just repeats what he said that day? God, it hurt __– hurts – so bad. Does he even know how much those words hurt me? How can he NOT know? Why does he not realise that I've always done the best I could, that I'm just not Dean? That I want something else from my life? That maybe what he wants with his life isn't what I want with mine? Why can't he see how he hurts me when he belittles the things that I value the most?_ The words that John spoke that day started repeating themselves in his mind. 'If you walk out that door, you don't come back. Ever. You don't come crawling back here when that thing blows up in your face. And it will. You don't belong there. Nothing good will come of it!'

_But we've said harsh words to each other before. Maybe… maybe if I try to find them, now that they're here – to show that… maybe we might at least get back on speaking terms. __Or maybe I could talk to Dean. He'd understand. No, perhaps not understand, but he would accept that I've made my choice. I have to let him know that – Hell, that I miss him. I miss them. They are my only family. Although…_ he made a small huffing sound. _Dad probably sees us as an army unit. Correction: HIS army unit._

He tried to harden himself on that thought, but he was suddenly overwhelmed by the endless pit of loneliness that he had felt steadily growing inside since the day that he walked out the door and headed for the bus station. His misery made him hide his face in his hands for a few moments, the longing tearing at him. _I can't do this without them. I thought I could, but I can't. They're all I have, I need them. I just can't do this alone. I need to make this right somehow, I need to patch things up with them._

With that thought, he rose and went out of his room to knock on the door of his friend Zach's dorm room. When Zach opened, Sam quickly asked, before he could change his mind: 'Hey, Zach, I was wondering… Well, the other night you said that if I ever needed to use a car, I might… Well, thing is, I need to go somewhere tonight, and it's sort of urgent, so I was wondering…'

'If you could borrow the car? Sure, mate, hang on for a sec, I'll just get the keys. Just remember, no dents and no girls in the backseat, ok?' Zach grinned at him, then tossed the keys to him. Sam flashed him a grateful smile, nodded his thanks and then started down the hall towards the parking lot.

_I'm going to see them soon… I hope they'll be happy to see me. I don't know what I'd do, if they… No, of course they'll want to see me. At least I know that Dean will. Dad is an entirely different story. But Dean will. He's always had my back, no matter what._

Holding on to the comfort that the thought of Dean's support had always brought him, he climbed into the car and set off for the small town closest to the haunted mansion, the most likely place to find the two eldest Winchesters.

_To Be Continued_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and __story alerted this story. I'm absolutely stunned by the response I've received. THANK YOU! And of course a huge thank you also to my brilliant beta MuffyMorrigan. 'I learn from the best'. _

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter 2**

Past

Near Palo Alto

Sam parked Zach's car in a quiet street in the outskirts of the town, then started walking along the main street, keeping to the shadows and watching out for any signs of his brother and father. He didn't have to walk far before he spotted a familiar black car in the parking lot of a motel, and he felt a pang – _is this what it means to feel homesick?_ – at the sight. He stopped briefly to take a deep breath and pluck up his courage, then crossed the street and slowly walked nearer to the motel room closest to the Impala, his hand unconsciously stroking the hood of the car as he passed it. His mind was blank, he felt almost frozen with fear as he approached the door.

Then he heard the raised voices.

'…he made that choice, Dad!' Dean's voice sounded angrier than Sam had ever heard before.

'You're damn right he did! He walked away, Dean. He chose to desert the hunt to pursue that foolish dream of his, leaving us in the process!'

Sam froze in his tracks when he realised that they were talking – arguing – about him.

'What do you think you'll accomplish with seeking him out, huh? You think he'll just fall into line like a good little soldier? Because then you're wrong. He made that choice, Dad – he's gone, and he isn't coming back! And we better leave him alone!' Dean's voice shook with anger.

Sam felt the blood drain from his face – actually, it felt like it drained from his entire body – when he heard those words coming from Dean, realising that Dean was angry with _him_, that he was actually telling their father _not_ to seek him out even though they were this close to Stanford. He turned and started running away blindly, knocking his knee hard against the bumper of the Impala in the process. He didn't stop until he got back to the borrowed car, where he slumped down next to the front wheel, his entire body shaking with the shock of what he'd overheard.

_Dean doesn't want to see me. He actually told Dad to keep away from me. Dean doesn't want to see me!_

He felt the bile rise in his throat but managed to force it back down. The feeling of nausea remained as he sat there staring blindly at the ground, gasping for breath as he felt the knot inside his chest tighten, threatening to suffocate him.

_Dean doesn't want to see me! How could I have been so stupid to think they came here for my sake? Of course they're just here for the hunt._ _And they're better off without me – that way they won't have to worry about me screwing up and getting one of them hurt. Like that time with the Wendigo… Dean almost died. And then the werewolf, it almost bit Dad… And… No wonder they don't want me around. I'm hopeless. _

Several minutes later, he finally rose and got into the car to return to Palo Alto. Back at the dorm, back in his empty room, he finally let go of the emotions, let go of the tears, crying himself to sleep, broken.

Alone.

His hasty departure from the motel meant that Sam never heard Dean's last angry words to their father: 'You leave him alone, Dad! You can't go and pick him up like some deserted soldier and think he'll just follow orders and get back in the hunt. He's made up his mind to follow his dream, and you better let him do it!', nor did he see Dean turn his back on his father for the first time in his life and storm out the motel room, slamming the door behind him. And neither brother saw the look of regret and perhaps even fear that flickered across John's face when he realised that his eldest son was right.

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Present

Sam's voice fell away, the memory of the old, buried emotions threatening to overtake him.

'Sam…'

Sam continued to look at his hands.

'It's ok, Dean. I understand. Once we find Dad… I'll leave again. Just… Please… Let me come along just long enough to find and kill that thing that took Jess. I know I don't belong with you and Dad…'

'Sam…'

'No, Dean. I know, OK? It told me… I'm sorry that I hurt you when I left, but I thought you might have forgiven me, when you came and got me at Stanford. Please don't think… God, Dean, I missed you so much. But then I heard you… And I realised there was no going back… I've screwed everything up, haven't I? Look what happened to Jess because of me… I can't go back there…'

'Sam!'

'And because I left, you never could… I'm sorry that I took that away from you, Dean. And I realise that you must be reminded of that whenever you look at me… that you're a freak because of me.'

'Dude, did you just call me a freak?' Dean's attempt at humour fell on deaf ears, Sam just kept on rambling, his defences shattered by the words that the shapeshifter had enunciated in his brother's voice and the painful memories from the past.

'I'm sorry that you always have to save me… that I can't seem to pull my own weight… I should've known it wasn't Becky… Just as I should've smashed that mirror instead of being so weak…'

'SAM!'

Sam visibly flinched when Dean raised his voice, but finally stopped his painful ramble.

'Sam. Hey, Sam. Look at me!'

Sam continued staring at the cup slowly turning in his hands, noticing how it seemed to tremble slightly.

_Look at you, Dean? To see the contempt in your face when you look at the freak that is your little brother? No way. Because, Dean, we don't do chick-flick moments, remember? And if I look at you right now I'm not sure that I can hold these tears back any longer._

Sam clenched his jaw trying to hold back the tears and control his hands that seemed to tremble even more violently as he felt his pulse steadily speeding up, the noise of it pounding in his ears.

Suddenly he felt Dean's hand beneath his chin, gently forcing him to lift his head and look at him. When he finally did look into his brother's eyes through the tears blurring his own, he was surprised to find not contempt but rather confusion and – what was that? – compassion? _Tears?_

'Sammy…' Dean's voice shook slightly as the full weight of the anguish in his brother's eyes fell on him.

_What did that thing say to __you, Sam, to cause this reaction? How can you even think that I… Oh my God, no! Oh Sammy… You were there? You heard the fight that night?_

Dean's train of thoughts abruptly stopped and before he could stop them, the words left his mouth.

'It was you!'

Sam, slightly soothed by Dean's gentle touch and voice started in shock at the sudden outburst, visibly paling, almost seeming to diminish before Dean's eyes. His eyes were wide with fear as he once again started to vent his befuddled, guilt-ridden mind.

'I'm so sorry, I never meant to, it's all my fault, maybe I should have died in the fire, then you…'

He stopped. Dean's hands were on his shoulders, gently shaking him.

'Sam… That wasn't what I meant. I'd never blame you for any of those things. Ok? What I meant was that I saw you that night at the motel. I saw you, Sam! God, if I'd only…'

He stopped, suddenly rising, starting to pace the room. When he finally stopped and looked at Sam, he saw the confusion plain on Sam's face.

'Sam… that night, that fight… that was the closest I've ever come to walking out on Dad. I was so angry. You know what he thought? He thought that if he just sought you out and ordered you to come back, you'd do that. Hell, he even threatened to pick you up and bundle you into the Impala and just take off. I was trying to convince him to leave you alone, to let you live the life you'd chosen. That's why I was so angry. You know, I even slammed the door in his face when I left the room – must've pissed him off no end, me taking after you in that way, huh?'

Dean gave a low chuckle at the thought, pleased to see the shadow of a smile flit across Sam's face. Realising that Sam was slowly starting to calm down, he continued.

'That was when I saw you – only I didn't realise… I was standing in the parking lot and saw someone running down the main street like the Tasmanian Devil. And I thought… I remember thinking that it looked just like you… but then I thought that it was just my mind playing tricks on me, you know? Because I wanted… needed it to be you. But I thought, why should you… why should you be there… I never thought you might…'

He glanced at Sam, not really comfortable with the situation, but knowing that Sam needed to hear him say it, he went on.

'God, Sam… Sammy. I missed you too. If it wasn't for the fact that I knew that you were doing what you wanted to do, what you'd always wanted, that it wasn't just because you wanted to leave the hunt and get away from Dad, but more because you really wanted that life…' he stopped to take a breath. 'Hell, Sammy, I would've bundled you into the Impala even faster than Dad if I'd even thought you might want to come back… Might even have fitted you into the trunk, Sasquatch.'

He looked at Sam, relieved that the anguished look had faded slightly in his eyes. Then, suddenly, Sam froze and the haunted look darkened his eyes once again.

'But it said… it said that you blamed me… that because I left, you lost your chance to get that life – to have friends, to follow your dreams.'

His voice broke a little on the last word, the guilt plain to hear.

'Sam… I turned my back on that life long before you went to Stanford… I'm a hunter through and through, that's who I am. Hell, look at me – I'm killing monsters and saving hot chicks in the process. Who could ask for more?' he said with his trademark crooked grin, trying to steer the conversation back onto firm ground.

'Yeah, you're a real Saint George, Dean,' Sam said, his voice still shaking a little, not quite daring to believe what Dean had said.

'I totally am. Who else would be there to save you, princess?'

Dean grinned at him.

'Jerk.' Sam flashed Dean a small smile.

'Bitch.'

The familiar exchange seemed to restore Sam a little, the tremble in his hands, the tension in his body diminishing.

_Thank God, that seemed to help a little. How can I convince him that what that thing said wasn't true? He seems convinced that it had access to my thoughts – that what it said was how I feel about him.__ And it didn't, Sam, it didn't! I never thought that. Never have, never will. Can you believe that, little brother? _

Suddenly he noticed Sam looking at him, a strange look on his face.

'What?' Dean asked.

'Did you… Did you really miss me, Dean?' Sam asked in a small voice.

Dean dragged his fingers through his short hair, wondering how he could get Sam to see the truth.

'Sam… Of course I did. When you left… it was like losing an arm or something. For months I'd turn around and start speaking to you, only you weren't there. God, Sammy, how can you even ask me that? It was hell not knowing what you were doing, whether you were ok, whether things had turned out alright for you. But more than that, I was going crazy with the thought of you there all alone, with no one to watch your back.'

'I thought you might… I mean, I thought you might be angry with me for leaving, but I thought you'd understand… I mean, when I knew… the thought of you so near, hunting… But then I heard you… And then I heard… So I couldn't let you… But I screwed it all up.' Sam's voice faded away, his eyes taking on a blank look as if he was looking inwards at something playing out in his mind.

'Sam… What are you saying? You're not making a lot of sense here, you know. Sammy?'

Dean's use of the name he rebelled against in his teenage years now sent a sense of warmth into Sam's body. _Perhaps… Will he understand? Can I tell him…? What if he blames me for what happened… For not saving them from that… I almost got them killed… But he said he didn't blame me, so perhaps… perhaps I can tell him. I need to tell him. I need him to know. To understand._

Sam took a deep breath, eyes returning to the cup before him, needing to go on talking, needing to share his pain with someone – someone who might be able to catch him when he himself was too busy falling.

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Past

Palo Alto

When Sam woke up the next morning, he felt exhausted. At first not remembering why, he started to rise. Then the memories of what he had overheard the night before hit him. The breath caught in his throat, paralysed by the way that his innards froze into a tight not, rendering him unable to move, let alone breathe.

He fell back on the bed, the only thought screaming in his head _Dean doesn't want to see me!_ He finally managed to draw in a breath, struggling to stop the tears from falling again.

'Suck it up, son, you're a Winchester!' He heard his father's voice in his head, the well-known order that had been used when he'd dared voice his – often contrary – opinion about anything from the breakfast menu to having to move (yet again) to training for hours in the pouring rain (whoever else would even consider practicing bow hunting in the rain?)

'Winchester.' The name resounded in his mind. At least here, at Stanford, he could use his own name all the time, he didn't have to constantly remember whatever name was on their current fake credit cards or medical insurance. But at the same time that he could finally be open about his formal identity, he had to lie about so many other things. He couldn't ever tell his new-found friends what it really meant to be a Winchester.

And now it seemed he wasn't even that anymore. He realised with a sinking heart that he didn't belong with his family anymore. _Not that being an outsider is anything new for me – seems I've never really fit in_ _- not to mention the final desertion when I walked out and left to come here_. But he had never in his wildest dreams (and they were pretty bad on the best of nights) imagined that they – that _DEAN_ – would not want to see him again.

He felt alone, afloat on the endless ocean that was his life, with only the tattered remains of his sense of self between him and the dark void of the waters, and no safe havens in which to seek refuge or just advice when the storm threatened to sink him.

_Who am I? I thought this was what I wanted, but I never thought that the cost would be so high. I can live without seeing Dad,_ he ignored the painful stab that this thought brought him, _but I never thought that it would mean not seeing Dean. But I guess it just figures – I screw everything up. No wonder he doesn't want to see him, even in my last fight with Dad I manage to put him in the middle. God, I've put him through hell these last years…_

He was torn from his thoughts by a knock on the door. Zach's voice sounded: 'Hey, Sam, mate, you decent? Can I have my keys back? I promised Becky I'd give her a ride downtown today!'

Sam quickly composed himself, checked his reflection in the mirror - _At least I just look exhausted, not as if I've been bawling my eyes out all night_ – then he opened the door to reveal his friend. He handed him the car keys.

'Sure – and thanks a lot for letting me borrow it, Zach. I really appreciate it, _mate_!' Sam said with a smile. 'You've been spending way too much time in the company of Australians. What's next, you going to start drinking Australian beer?' _Wow, that sounded like Dean!_

'No sweat. You know you only have to ask,' Zach replied. 'And no, I'm not. But look who's talking - dude, what have you been doing all night? You look pooped! Hey – you weren't by any chance out near the Heidegger place, were you?'

'The Heidegger place?' Sam asked, confused.

'Yeah, you know, where that guy got squashed a couple of weeks ago?'

Sam shook his head in confusion. 'No, why do you ask?'

'Well, too bad, mate. Or maybe I should say lucky for you. Apparently two guys went on a little breaking-and-entering spree in the house last night, and it turns out that one of them ended up doing an imitation of a pancake almost as proficiently as the one the owner did earlier. People are starting to say the place is cursed.'

'Two guys? Police know who they are?' Sam asked, his face suddenly as pale as the paint on the wall beside him. 'And did he… did he die, that guy?' He tried to stop the tremble that coursed through his body from entering his voice.

'You OK, mate?' Zach asked, noticing Sam's deathly pallor.

Sam nodded. 'Think I've got a bit of food poisoning, that's all.'

'Right. Anyway, who cares who those guys are? A couple of punk-ass thieves, that's who. You ask me, that guy got what he deserved. Personally, I have no sympathy for people entering other people's homes sneaking through their stuff, for whatever reason. And last I heard, the guy was alive, barely, but they don't expect him to last long. Pancakes don't you know. Anyway – gotta roll. See you around, Winchester!' Zach clapped Sam on the shoulder in a friendly manner, then took off down the hall.

After closing his door, Sam slid slowly down to the floor, his mind spinning with panicked thoughts as violently as his entire body seemed to shake. Tears flowed unnoticed from his eyes, tears of fear, tears of grief, this time not from himself but for the two people who mattered most to him in the world.

_Dean! Dad! NO! It can't be! I heard them only last night! But whoever else could it be in that house, whoever else would go there? Dean, please, not you… Dad, I didn't mean those things I said, I don't hate you… Oh, please, God, not them, please let them be alive!_

He abruptly rose, pulling on the nearest clothes.

_I have to know, I need to… Oh, God, no, please…_

Throwing the door open, he ran out his room and down the hall, ignoring the puzzled glances and annoyed shouts he caused as he bumped into people on his panicked dash out the building. On the front steps he paused, gasping for breath.

_Think, Sam! What's the hospital nearest to the Heidegger house? I don't know, I don't know… Relax, God dammit, stop panicking, this isn't helping you, breathe, this isn't helping them – DEAN! DAD!_

Suddenly he spotted a cab letting out a couple of students a few hundred meters down the road, and resuming his mad race, he managed to flag it down just before it turned around to pick up some other non-suspecting students on their way to thier usual mundane doings.

When the driver asked him where he wanted to go, Sam stared blankly at him, then managed to stutter something about 'hospital close to Whitford Road.' The driver, taking in the appearance of the young, dark-haired man before him, noticed his panicked eyes, the tattered jeans and the sweatshirt worn inside-out, and quickly figured it was a matter of a severe family emergency.

'No worries, son, I know where it is, we'll get you there ASAP!'

Sam nodded his thanks, then returned to listening to his own crazed thoughts going around in circles in his mind.

_Dean! Dad! God, please… please let them be safe. Dean!_

He didn't even notice that the cab had stopped until the driver gently shook his shoulder.

'Son, we're here.'

Sam frantically started searching through his pockets for money to pay the fare, but the driver held up his hand in refusal.

'No worries, son. Go inside to whoever it is you're going to see. I'll get another customer going back into town, that'll settle this.'

Sam nodded his thanks, stepped out of the cab and headed for the main entrance, scanning the parking lot for a familiar black shape.

_No sign of the Impala. I wonder if that's a good or a bad sign?_

He hesitated as he walked through the doors.

_What shall I tell them? I don't even know what names they're using at the moment – if it is them.__ Maybe Harrison? I think that was the name on their newest insurance cards… I have to believe… Oh, God!_

He stopped at the reception desk, for once at a loss for words. He managed to stammer something about the Heidegger place, 'Dad' and 'brother', and the nurse, taking in his frightened eyes and dishevelled appearance, pointed him towards the waiting room near the ICU, saying with a compassionate smile that he might find his father there.

_Oh, God, Dean, no! I can't lose you, I never should have left, Dean, I'm so sorry… DEAN!_

The name screamed in his mind. Once again the tears started down his cheeks, his trembling hands barely functioning enough to wipe them away.

He stopped outside the door to the waiting room, bracing himself for what he would find, what state his father would be in, whether he would be angry at him.

_Oh God, if I'd only been there… __if only… DEAN!_

Then he went in.

_To Be Continued_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: _I can't thank you enough for the wonderful response I'm getting to this story. I'm speechless with gratitude, and it's released a bunch of new plot bunnies in my head. As always, a huge, heartfelt thank you to my beta MuffyMorrigan whose help and encouragement has made my writing so much better. _

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter 3**

Present

Dean watched Sam grow silent at the memory of his absolute terror that day. During Sam's tale he'd sat down on the bed facing his brother. As Sam's words seeped into his mind, he felt himself pale as he remembered his own terror when he saw the shapeshifter strangling his brother, fearing that he might have been too late.

_Not to mention seeing __you in that burning room with Jessica on the ceiling… Or crumbling in front of that mirror, blood pouring from your eyes… Oh God, Sam, trust me, I know how you felt. I feel it every single time those things lay a hand on you. Every single time, Sam. To be honest, those years were pure hell, not knowing what you were doing, whether you were safe. And, if that scar is anything to go by, you weren't…_

'You must've thought… you thought that was me and Dad! Oh, God, Sammy!' Dean exclaimed when Sam finished.

Sam looked up at him and nodded. 'I was so terrified that I didn't even realise when I stepped into that waiting room that the man sitting there with two police officers was one of the burglars. I just thought Dad had gone out or had been called to your room or something like that. It wasn't until I heard them mention that place that I realised…' his voice broke slightly. 'I realised that it wasn't you, that you were safe. I was so relieved, I just dropped into the nearest chair, then started laughing. You should have seen their faces!' he continued with a slight tremulous smile.

_Yeah, Sammy, know that feeling too.__ All too well, in fact._

Trying to steer the conversation in a direction that he was more comfortable with, Dean hit on the one part of Sam's story that would enable him to strike out at someone.

'Anyway, what did that Zach dude say? 'No sympathy for people sneaking through other people's stuff?' Seriously, is that the guy I just risked my ass for? If I'd known…'

Sam looked at him questioningly. 'You'd what? Let him be convicted of something he didn't do? And Zach's not that bad. In fact, you should be grateful, if it wasn't for him…' Sam stopped abruptly, realising that he'd said too much, that Dean was sure to pick up on what he'd said.

'Grateful? To him? And why is that, Sam? Because I sure as hell don't feel grateful for him getting my face plastered all over St. Louis. But I don't think that's what you mean either, Sam. Is it?'

Sam looked at his hand, at the now-empty cup being squashed between them. He kept quiet.

_Na-ah, Sam. Not going to work this time. You're talking. I want to know what happened._

'Sam.'

Sam didn't react.

'Sam!' Dean's voice grew more insistent, his curiosity increased by Sam's stubborn silence. _Yep, that's it, I'm just curious. That's all there is to it._

When Sam still didn't react, Dean rose and suddenly ripped the remains of the coffee cup from Sam's hands. 'Dude! Enough of the stonewalling. Talk to me, man. It's clear that something's going on in that freaky head of yours, something to do with that scar, something to do with…' He broke off suddenly when he realised what he'd said. _Could it be? What he told me – that was just before…_'…something to do with that hunt…? But you weren't…' Dean's voice was suddenly hesitant, almost fearful. _That hunt… I knew something happened. I didn't manage to…Oh my God, Sam. Tell me you weren't there that night! Tell me you didn't see…_

Sam finally looked at him, guilt in his eyes. 'Yes, Dean, I was. I was there, I saw it, and I was too slow to stop it, I couldn't stop it, and then you… and Dad… I couldn't stop it, if only I'd been there with you, but I wasn't, and you both got hurt… God, Dean, what it did to you, all that blood, you almost died...'

'Sam, you're not making any sense. You say that you were there, but then you say you weren't?'

'I was there, Dean. I wasn't where I should have been, but I was there.'

He turned his eyes back to his now-empty hands and resumed his story.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Past

Near Palo Alto

After his laughing fit in the waiting room had passed (the police officers looking at him in a rather odd manner, as if determining whether he'd wandered off from the psych ward or something like that), Sam calmed down and started listening inconspicuously to what the rather crazed burglar was telling the police officers. They soon gave the burglar the same look that they'd spared Sam only moments earlier, and Sam didn't blame them; to anyone but a hunter, the man's story sounded like an acid trip.

'I swear, I'm telling the truth! I don't know what that thing was, but one minute Josh was standing next to me, and the text he's hanging beneath the ceiling, screaming his head off in terror. And I saw that figure standing beneath him, looking up at him, cackling in glee… And then it turned around and looked at me, gave me this sort of wink, and vanished. And… and that's when Josh fell.. Oh, God, I saw him fall, heard him hit the ground, and I couldn't do anything…' The man hid his face in his hands. 'I couldn't do anything,' he repeated, his voice broken.

The younger of the police officers looked at the other, slowly shaking his head.

_Think what you like, what he's told you sounds very plausible when dealing with an angry spirit_Sam thought as he slowly rose and left the room. Just as he walked out the door, he saw a doctor heading for the waiting room, seemingly struggling to find the right degree of compassion for the man inside, who was clearly about to get some very bad news. Sam felt for the man, remembering his own panic only minutes before.

He walked out of the hospital and, now remembering his money clip in his back pocket, jumped on board the first bus headed back towards Stanford.

_Thank God it wasn't them. I'm not sure I could've taken that. Have I made the right decision? Should I have stayed with them instead of following my dream coming here? But I couldn't… I just couldn't. It was tearing me up inside, the hunts, the victims, the bereaved. And that fear. Oh, God, that fear. I couldn't – I CAN'T – live with it anymore, that terrible, horrible, paralysing fear that I might one day cause them injury – maybe even cause their death – because of my inability to __do the job properly. _

_No, I made the right decision. At least here, I can feel safe, I know I'm good at what I do here, I'm free of that fear of failure. So what if they don't understand? I'm doing what I want to do, so why should I care what they think? I know I can never gain their respect anyway – I'm not like them – so why shouldn't I just stay gone and spare them from having to look at the failure that they brought up?_

_But oh, God, how can I do that - it seems that the fear haunts me even now – can I go through with this, not knowing where they are, whether they're alright? But it's better than being there in the middle of it. I can't do that anymore. I can't. _

He suddenly realised that the bus was drawing close to Stanford. He got out at his stop, but what he felt when he walked back towards his dorm in the midday sun wasn't welcome or safety but rather a profound sense of loss.

Sam spent the rest of the afternoon buried in his homework, trying to drive thoughts of Dean and John and the hurtful words he'd overheard out of his head.

Later that night, he met with some of his new friends at a local café. Letting most of their conversation flow over him, not yet feeling confident enough to voice his own opinions on their discussions of politics or family matters, his attention was suddenly caught by the conversation between two female students at the table next to where he was sitting with Zach and Becky.

'I'm telling you, that was the hottest cop I've ever met! He gave me this smile…' one of them, a tall blonde, giggled.

'Don't get your hopes up, Kathy, he's been giving every other female student that treatment, I hear, and asking a bunch of weirdo questions on top,' her friend said.

'But how many did he ask for their phone number?' Kathy said, sounding a bit miffed.

_Sorry, Kathy, my guess would be all of them._

'With those looks probably more than one, Kath,' a boy of about Sam's age said, sitting down beside the two girls. 'Anyway, from what I hear, those cops are barking up the wrong tree. Or, rather, they don't know which tree they should bark up.'

'And what exactly do you mean by that, Jeff?' Kathy said, pouting at his comment about the hot cop whose questioning she'd rather enjoyed earlier that afternoon.

'Well, I guess you all read that article – they have no idea how those people ended up being dropped from that ceiling – and they have no idea how to figure it out,' Jeff said.

'Well, officer Harrison seemed to think it might be some sort of stealthy serial killer or something, at least he asked me if we'd heard about something like this happening before. I told him I hadn't heard anything,' Kathy said, sounding mildly disappointed that she hadn't had any interesting information that might have enabled her to prolong her interview with 'officer Harrison'.

Jeff laughed condescendingly. 'Serial killer, my ass. I tell you, if they knew what they were up against, they'd be hightailing it out of here before you could even _say_ serial killer.'

Sam, who had had immense difficulty hiding his grin while hearing how the girl called Kathy had clearly fallen under Dean's spell _I_ w_onder how he manages to do that over and over again?_ now froze in his seat, his attention wholly directed at the boy's words.

'And what exactly are they up against?' Kathy asked.

'A ghost, that's what! And a bloodthirsty one at that!' Jeff said dramatically.

It was Kathy's turn to laugh condescendingly. 'A ghost?'

'Yes, a ghost. I know it from a very reliable source.'

'Oh, yeah?' Kathy's friend laughed. 'Why don't you tell us what your oh-so-reliable source has told you?'

'Well… Promise you won't tell anyone else? I don't want this spreading all over campus, and I especially don't want those cops to know,' Jeff said, lowering his voice.

Sam innocently leaned back in his chair to be able to continue hearing what Jeff told the two girls who nodded their agreement to Jeff's terms.

_Wonder what he knows – and it sounds like he hasn't told anyone, which means that Dean and Dad may not know this…_

'See, I overheard my father talking to one of his friends today, and apparently there was some controversy about that Murphy guy's purchase of the Heidegger place. My dad's friend's brother-in-law apparently made a higher bid for the place, but the prior owners accepted Murphy's bid – probably got a healthy amount of money outside the official deal, if you catch my drift. Anyways, my dad's friend's brother-in-law is mightily pissed at this, and having certain connections and knowledge, he figures out a way to get back at Murphy,' Jeff paused for dramatic effect, basking in the attention from the two girls.

_Oh God, I know what comes next. When will people ever learn?_

'So, he and his friends go out to the Heidegger place one day, finds the spot where the original owner was buried – incidentally, he died in a working accident during the actual building of the place – make some kind of summoning ritual to call the man's spirit to them, binds it to some kind of amulet and bids it to go kill the new owner. And you know how that turned out!'

The two girls looked at him incredulously, then Kathy started to giggle. 'Wow, Jeff, that's a good one, almost had me fooled! Ghost? Summoning? Amulet? You've got to be kidding me. We're not 10 years old, you know.'

'You don't believe me? Then how would you explain that guy dying in the exact same manner yesterday evening, huh? That was what really worried the guy my dad's friend told him about. See, apparently they thought that the ghost would return to its grave or whatever, nice and easy, after having killed that guy for them. So they left after seeing the guy dead, throwing the amulet into the forest near the house, thinking it was a job well done. Only, as you know, it wasn't, since apparently the ghost did a repeat performance last night,' Jeff said, annoyed that the girls didn't believe him. 'That was actually what that guy had started to worry about – he thought it'd be over, but now it seems the ghost just keeps on killing people going into that house at night. And he had no clue how they could even stop it, because they didn't have the amulet anymore.'

Kathy looked at him. 'You really believe this, don't you?' she said incredulously.

_Yes, he does, and so should you. But of course you don't. People never do until it's too late._

'Didn't you hear what I just said? They _summoned_ that thing! It's real, they _saw_ it! And I know my dad's friend, he's not one to tell a lie,' Jeff said, clearly offended. 'You know, if you don't believe me, why don't you come with me out there tomorrow evening? Then you may get to see it yourself. Only I'm so not going with you in there, I don't want to end up a pancake on the floor.'

_When will people ever learn?_

The two girls looked at each other, then at Jeff. 'Deal!' Kathy said. 'We'll go with you, and if this _ghost_ doesn't show, you're going to do whatever we want you to do during the next dorm party!'

'Deal! But I'm warning you, you may not even _be_ here for the next dorm party!' Jeff said with a satisfied grin, then he rose from his chair and left the café.

_Tomorrow evening… They'll probably be safe by then, since if Dean and Dad have been researching today, they'll be bound to go to the house tonight and take care of the spirit._

Then the full impact of Jeff's words hit him, and he rose quickly from his seat, almost spilling his coke in the process.

_Oh my God! They probably won't know about the amulet! Salting and burning the bones won't be enough to stop it!__ If they think… They won't be prepared. I have to warn them… No matter what, I have to warn them._

'Sorry, have to go – something I forgot,' he managed to stutter, noting Zach and Becky's surprised looks at his sudden departure, then he walked quickly out the door.

Once outside the café, he pulled out his phone with a trembling hand.

_Now what do I say? Hey, Dean, just wanted to war__n you, this ghost you're hunting, it's been summoned, so you have to find an amulet in the woods to get rid of it? Oh, and I hope you're alright. And don't worry, I'll stay away from you? Somehow that doesn't sound right__. Hey, Dean, I heard you were hunting this ghost…No. I just wanted to let you know I heard about this hunt…No. I just wanted to warn you this ghost..._

He scrolled through the numbers in his phone, pausing at John's cell phone number.

_Or how about Hey, Dad, sorry I walked out on you (well, not really), but listen, I just heard someone talking about this ghost you're hunting – how do I know that you're hunting it? Doesn't matter, listen… Dad, listen! Nope, not going to work either._

He closed his eyes in despair, trying to figure out a way to tell them about the amulet without getting into the hurtful issues standing between them like a solid wall, rendering them unable to see let alone reach each other. Finally, not finding any easy solution and feeling that time was running out, he opened his phone and speed dialled Dean's number, holding his breath as he heard it ringing. _Please, Dean, pick it up. I know you don't want to talk to me, but this is important. Pick it up, goddammit!_ And ringing. And ringing.

Finally, Dean's voice mail picked up. 'This is Dean Winchester, if this is an emergency…' Sam froze, surprised by the pain he felt at hearing his brother's voice. When he realised that Dean's message had ended, he haltingly said, 'Hey, Dean, it's me… It's Sam. Listen… I, er… I have information about your hunt. It's important. Call me, ok?' The words rushed out of him before he quickly hung up, staring at his phone, willing Dean to call him back, hoping he would, hoping he wouldn't.

Then he tried his father number, no luck either. _They're probably already at the house, too busy to pick up. Or maybe they've turned the sound off, not wanting to alert the spirit to their presence. Dammit! I have to warn them! And if they aren't there yet, I have to take care of that spirit myself – I can't allow those girls to go there tomorrow night with that Jeff guy, they might end up getting themselves killed. I just can't allow that. DAMMIT, I thought I was done with all this! _

He tried both their numbers several more times, then gave up. He stood for a minute looking blankly out over the parking lot, thoughts racing through his mind.

_I have to do this, if I can't get hold of them. But hunting this thing on my own…__Never a good plan in the first place. But I have no other option. Thank God I took some salt with me when I left… But how am I going to find that amulet? I don't even know what it looks like, and it's going to be pitch black out there when I get there… And how am I even going to get there? _

Finally finding a problem that he could do something about, he went back into the café and asked Zach if he could borrow his car once again.

'Sure,' Zach said. 'Sam… Are you ok?' He looked at Sam with worry in his eyes.

Sam nodded, trying to reassure his friend. 'Yes, yes. Just remembered that I'd forgotten something important. Something very important.' He gave Zach his best reassuring smile, not realising that it was very clear to his friends that something was seriously wrong.

Zach and Becky looked at each other, then Zach shrugged and handed Sam his keys. Sam nodded his thanks, then quickly left again, almost running across the parking lot to the car. Once there, he slipped into the front seat, took a deep breath and then set off for the Heidegger residence, only taking a small detour to pick up some things from his dorm room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Present

Dean had grown absolutely still listening to Sam's story. His brother still wouldn't meet his eyes but kept staring at his own hands, at the table, at anything but Dean, but his downcast eyes weren't enough to hide the myriad of emotions that crossed his face and were audible in his voice during his story.

_God, Sam… If only you knew how much I missed you… You know, I interviewed all those people that day, but the only question I really wanted to ask them was whether they knew you or had maybe seen you... And everywhere I went, I was hoping I'd see you. I even thought I saw you once or twice, but it turned out I was wrong__. Hang on… what was that? You tried to call me? I never got that message… Oh my God, Sam, you must've thought… My phone was smashed that night when I… when that ghost… Oh God, Sam, please tell me you weren't there, please tell me you didn't see that._

Fearing the answer to his silent plea, Dean didn't dare ask the question aloud but rather pounced upon the fact that Sam had called him that night.

'You called me? You called Dad? Even though… in spite of you thinking that… that we didn't want to see you?'

'How could I not, Dean? I knew you probably didn't have access to that information and that it might give the ghost an advantage over you.'

'Yeah, you can say that again,' Dean said, unconsciously rubbing his side where an old scar suddenly seemed to itch. Realising what he was doing, he quickly took away his hand and tried steering the conversation away from that particular topic.

'But, Sam, I never got that message… You must've thought that I didn't want to… But I never got it, Sam, believe me!' He looked into Sam's eyes, silently begging him to believe him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw awakening hope there as Sam's eyes widened slightly.

'You didn't?' Sam's voice was incredulous.

'No, I didn't. Otherwise I would've called you back at once! I lost my phone that night and didn't get the chance to go back and find it again,' _not to mention the fact that I would've never been able to fit all the pieces back together again, much less make it work_. _No reason to tell Sam that, maybe he doesn't know how bad that salt and burn really went. And he doesn't need to know. But what if he already knows? What did he see? I hope he didn't see me… But I don't really believe that; from what he has told me, it seems rather probable that he knows what went on that night. Oh my God… what if… what if it was really Sam that I saw? That I FELT that night?_

'You lost your phone?' Sam said, uncertainly still evident in his voice.

'Yes, I did. And can you believe how many new phone numbers I had in that thing??? Aaargh!'

Sam smiled at that, shaking his head slightly. _Mission accomplished_. Then he frowned and looked at Dean again. 'But when was that? When did you lose it?'

_Uh oh. You just had to ask that question, didn't you, Sammy? You never could leave things alone, could you? How much do you know? How much can I tell you? Because if you don't know, then trust me, you don't want to know._

'Well, as you apparently know, there was this haunted house that we had to take care of. Dad and I figured it was a simple salt and burn, so we went out to the house that night,' Dean said.

'Simple salt and burn? I do believe it was you who once told me that there is no such thing,' Sam replied, daring to meet Dean's eyes and flash him a quick smile.

'Yes, well, it does happen once in a while, you know… Not our fault that we didn't have access to the college-boy network back then, students are apparently even less talkative than a mouse hiding from a hungry cat when they want to. Wouldn't have thought information like that would stay hidden for long, especially not with the way I was working my magic with those co-eds…' Dean grew silent as he saw the look of guilt and pain that flashed across Sam's face at his words. 'Oh, God, Sam, no, NO, I didn't mean… Sam, you tried to warn us, even though you thought… Sam, this was not your fault, ok?'

When Sam replied, his voice was so low that Dean almost didn't catch his words.

'Yes, it was.'

'What was that?' Dean asked.

'Yes, it was my fault, Dean. I should've gotten there quicker, I should've… But I hesitated, and I almost got you and Dad killed, Dean.'

_What is he talking about? Getting us killed?__ Sammy? What are you talking about? What more do you have to tell, what have you kept hidden from me? _

'What do you mean, you almost got us killed? You tried to warn us, it wasn't your fault that we hadn't gotten all the info on that maniacal ghost making human pancakes. How can it ever be your fault that the evil sucker got the drop on us?'

Sam's only answer was to look into Dean's eyes, his eyes filled with pain and guilt and a fear so tangible that it almost took Dean's breath away. And it dawned on him, the thought that he'd tried to deny for several minutes. It struck him like a punch to the stomach, hard, driving the air from him, sending a tremble from the very core of his body to the tip of his fingers. _He was really there! He was the one I saw, I wasn't hallucinating. He… he was the one who saved my life that night, not Dad. He saw me like that…Oh, God, Sammy… _

Before Dean could say another word, Sam took a deep breath and continued his story.

_**To be continued**_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank you again to everyone who's read, reviewed, favourited and added this story to their alerts – I'm absolutely speechless. Sorry I haven't been able to answer all the wonderful reviews yet, I'll get back to you all ASAP, but I figured you might kill me if I didn't post this soon. __As always, a huge, heartfelt thank you goes out to my amazing beta and big sister MuffyMorrigan who's made it all happen. _

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter 4**

Past

Near Palo Alto

Having earlier established the location of the Heidegger residence, it didn't take Sam long to drive there after picking up salt and a small can of gasoline at his dorm room, along with a wicked, curved knife. _Pure iron, hope it'll work even with the spirit tied to that amulet._

Sam took a turn off right before reaching the Heidegger residence, hiding Zach's car in the forest out of sight of the main road to the place. _What if they're there? What if they aren't? I don't know which I hope for the most. I have to hurry, what if they've already met the spirit, what if…_

_No, thinking that way won't help me – or them. I have to figure out a game plan for the hunt._ He could hear his father's oft-repeated 'Always be prepared for anything expected and unexpected' inside his mind.

_Well, seeing how few weapons I have, I can't be prepared for anything. But I have to focus on finding and destroying that amulet. Dean and Dad can take care of salting and burning the bones, but they don't know that won't get rid of the spirit. He said they'd done some kind of ritual, probably nearby. I need to find out where, to find out how – to figure out how I can break the spell that holds the spirit here. If I'm lucky, I just have to break the amulet. Yeah, because I'm always so lucky.__ Maybe I should start wearing a rabbit's foot._

He stepped out of the car and started walking stealthily through the forest towards the house. Darkness was falling, forcing him to move slowly in order to avoid stepping on branches and alerting Dean and John to his presence. After walking for a few minutes, he was able to catch glimpses of the house through gaps in the trees, and he soon had an almost uninterrupted view of the mansion, a familiar black shape parked innocently in front of it, reflecting the light of the rising moon.

The sight of the Impala brought him bittersweet emotions, the longing for the sense of home that the car always had provided (not that he would ever admit that to his brother, who loved the car to the point of obsession) mixing with the painful memories of what he'd overheard the last time he'd seen it. Seeing movement near it, he shrunk back a little, then caught himself, realising that there was no way they were going to be able to see him in the darkness of the forest.

He watched as Dean went to open the trunk, tossed John what looked like a sawn-off shotgun and grabbed canisters of salt and gasoline. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he recognised Dean's restless movements as evidence of the rush of adrenaline that his brother always experienced during hunts and that made him even snarkier than usual and, Sam had to admit, more deadly to supernatural creatures than Sam would ever be.

Seeing a grin spread on his father's face, he knew Dean had made one of his usual comments A_nd a good one at that, bringing that kind of smile on Dad's face. I was never able to do that, no matter what_. He involuntarily flinched when he saw John slap Dean's shoulder in a friendly manner, once again witnessing the close relationship between his father and brother that he could never be – and had never been – a part of. Then John disappeared into the house while Dean walked around the back of the mansion. _Off to find the guy's grave, no doubt. I bet he's pissed that I'm not there to do the digging for him this time._

Knowing that once Dean started digging up the bones, if not before, the spirit was bound to make an appearance, Sam started moving slowly through the trees, starting his search. _If they made an actual summoning ritual, they must've used some kind of clearing – they couldn't do it out in the open, because then they might be seen by people in the house. But it still had to be close to the house, so they could make it clear to the spirit who they wanted it to take care of… Shouldn't be that difficult to find. I just hope the amulet is in plain view, I can't use my flashlight with Dean moving about outside, in his current hyped-up state of mind he'd probably shoot me or at the very least dose me with salt before asking questions_. He smiled lopsidedly.

His progress through the woods was slow, hindered by the density of the fir trees that forced him to painstakingly search through them in order not to miss a clearing hidden by the thick, needle-filled branches. He finally reached a more open stretch of forest, a mixture of tall oaks and lower bushes and climber plants. Realising that he was getting close to the back of the mansion and hearing movement, he figured that Dean had found the grave and started digging.

Moving even more quietly through the trees, trying to pick his way through the obstructing bushes, Sam suddenly found himself following a recently-made path through the thicket. The broken branches and downtrodden bushes that were only now beginning to rise again evidenced that a number of people had forced their way through there recently. _Animals stay on the beaten paths. This was definitely made by humans. Hope it leads me to the site of the ritual. And that my going there doesn't bring the spirit there. Don't need a pissed-off spirit haunting me right now. _

The path ended in a small clearing eerily lit by a beam of moonlight cutting through a hole in the canopy above. Sam carefully stepped into the light, at once noticing the darkened patch on the stone in the middle. He knelt down next to it, recognising it as dried blood. In the middle he saw a black rune. _When will people ever learn? Soot and blood – they don't know what they're messing with. No wonder that spirit is mightily pissed off and running amok. I better find that amulet soon before it starts on Dean and Dad! They'll be like sitting ducks to that spirit, not knowing that the usual means won't work on it. Ok, heavily-armed and rather badass sitting ducks, but still. _

He rose and looked around him, noticing that one corner of the clearing gave an almost uninterrupted view to the house. The moonlight shone on something white on the ground. _Cigarette butts. Damn fools probably stood here while the spirit took care of that poor guy. And idiots that they were, they've probably tossed the amulet somewhere in this thicket afterwards. Great, just great._ He knelt again, trying to see into the shadows cast by the bushes above him. The patches of moonlight and shadow made an intricate pattern on the ground. _Pretty, I guess, unless you're on a timeline and need to find an amulet of God knows what shape and size._

Suddenly a slight wind rustled the leaves of the bush above him and he thought he caught a glimpse of something red flashing in the shifting patterns of moonlight. Stretching his hand towards it, his fingers closed around a primitive object of leather and glass. When he pulled it closer, he saw that the flash he had seen was moonlight reflecting off a tiny vial of red set in the middle of the amulet. _I bet that's blood. Powerful stuff, they even used a blood sacrifice. Hope they knew what they were doing, because if that blood is unwillingly given…_ He shuddered at the thought.

He rose and turned to smash the amulet against the stone in the middle of the clearing, but before he could take a step, there was a rapid drop of temperature and a very pissed-off spirit appeared before him, sending him flying against the trunk of a huge old oak and then grabbing the amulet that dropped from his fingers on impact.

'Who do you think you are, daring to touch my amulet? A fool, I suppose, just like the fools who called me back here. But oh, I am ever so grateful to them, think of the fun I'm having! And now you're here, and those two others… Not together, are you? But don't worry, you soon will be, all united…' The spirit cackled evilly, then tossed Sam through the air to land in the middle of the clearing, knocking his head against the already-bloodied stone.

Satisfied that its prey wouldn't run away any time soon, the spirit cackled again, gleefully grasped the amulet in its hand and turned towards the house to seek out the two other annoyingly unworthy creatures that had dared enter its realm.

When Sam came to, he was at first disoriented, finding himself lying with his head against a stone in the middle of a moonlit clearing. _Where am I? Dean? What happened? Dean? Dad? Did I get hurt on a hunt? But if so, where are they, they wouldn't leave me lying here… No, wait, I'm not hunting anymore, I left… Stanford… The amulet! The spirit! Oh, God, how long have I been lying here? Dean! Dad!_

He pushed himself upwards, stumbling a little as the rush of blood in his head threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness. He re-gained his balance, checked that he still had his knife and the small canisters of salt and gasoline in his bag, then slowly made his way towards the house, figuring that the only reason the spirit had left him alone was that it had gone for Dean or John. Seeing Dean still digging furiously behind the house, he suddenly heard John's frantic voice coming from the house. 'Dean, hurry up! It's here!'

Sam saw Dean pick up his pace even more, the earth flying from the growing hole in the ground. _He won't be in time, if that thing already has Dad… Oh God, I may be too late…_ He ran out of the forest towards the front door, hoping that the spirit hadn't sealed it shut when it started attacking John. To his relief, the door opened at his touch. _Thank God, finally something went right today!_ The relief was short-lived, though, as the first thing that he saw when he entered was his father pinned to the wall, slowly rising towards the ceiling, his head bowed towards his chest, unconscious.

Sam felt a surge of anger, grabbed his knife and ran into the room towards the spirit who stood in the middle of the floor, cackling in anticipation. 'Put him down, you son of a bitch!' Sam said, holding the knife threateningly out from his body while slowly moving closer to the spirit. The spirit turned towards him, surprise evident in its eyes. It soon turned to glee, though, as it recognised its earlier opponent. 'Well, well, well, what have we here? You're skull is thicker than I thought!' Sam didn't answer, keeping one eye on the spirit and another on his father who had dropped slowly towards the ground when the spirit turned its attention to Sam.

'You shouldn't be here. Their calling you back was wrong. Go back where you came from,' he finally said when John was only a few feet above the ground. Before the spirit could answer, he flung the knife from his hand, right through the ethereal figure before him. With an angry screech, the spirit dissolved.

Sam ran to pick up his knife, then went to check on his father who had slumped ungracefully to the ground when the spirit's hold released him as it disappeared. Relieved to find a steady pulse and only a small lump on the back of his head, he rose to go to the window to check on Dean, but before he could do so, he was picked up and thrown through the air, colliding hard with the wall next to the front door. Trying to regain his bearings, he was tossed across the room, once again hitting the wall with a thud, hearing the spirit's evil cackle echoing in the room.

_This isn't exactly going like I pictured. Hope it isn't me who's going to end up like a pancake. I have to stop it, I have to make it talk to me so I can get a chance to throw the knife at it again.__ But before that, I need to get hold of the knife again. Think, Sam, THINK. That might be easier if that goddamn thing would stop playing squash with me._

His last thought was accentuated with another flight through the air, back towards the front door. He hit it with his back first, feeling how the impact with the door handle bruised or cracked a couple of his ribs. He barely managed not to scream with pain, and when the dark spots receded from his eyes, he saw the knife lying beneath his leg, out of sight of the spirit. _Guess I have a little luck today after all._ He quickly grabbed the knife, and when he felt himself being lifted into the air again, he flicked his wrist and once again threw the knife at the spirit.

And missed.

The knife flew past the spirit, knocking against the window sill with a loud clang. Sam blanched as the spirit looked down at him, its cackles growing even louder. It showed him the amulet it held in its hand, waving it in front of him teasingly, then said 'is this what you've come for, little plaything? Well, why don't you come and get it? But if you're a naughty boy and try anything with that knife again, I might end up killing you. Oh, wait. I might do that anyway. Isn't this fun???' The spirit started towards him, then suddenly stopped, looked towards the window, gave an angry screech and disappeared.

Sam slumped to the ground when the spirit released its hold on him. He lay still for a second, confused by the spirit's behaviour, his brain muddled by the times he had hit the walls and the earlier knock against the stone in the forest. _Huh? What happened? Did it disappear? It sounded angry… DEAN. That must be it – Dean's burning the bones. Oh no – he'll think that'll work – he'll let his guard down because he thinks it'll disappear when they're gone. _

Sam rose quickly and stumbled across the room to pick up his knife, casting a look out the window at the flickering light from the flames. He saw the shape of Dean standing in front of it, looking down into the flames, unsuspecting of the danger he was in, thinking this was another job well done. _Nothing's ever a simple salt and burn, Dean. You told me that enough times._

Just as he was about to knock at the window and warn Dean, he saw the spirit materialise behind his brother and knock him across the grave to land in a heap at the foot of a huge oak. Not waiting to see what happened next, he turned and sprinted out the house and towards the back and the grave. _Please, let me not be too late! I should have warned him before going in to check on Dad… Dean! Hold on, I'm coming!_

He turned the corner and stopped abruptly in horror at the sight before him. The spirit was playing with Dean, there was no other word for it. It held him suspended in mid-air above the still-burning grave, at the same time throwing all kinds of garden tools from a nearby shed at him. Sam could see that some of them had already connected and inflicted a lot of damage; Dean's head was lolling weakly as he struggled to remain conscious, and Sam could see dark patches on his light-coloured t-shirt, lit by a mixture of pure white moonlight and the orange glow of the flickering flames. _Oh my God! Dean, hold on, I'm getting rid of that thing right now! I don't know exactly how, I need to get hold of that amulet, but that thing is going to Hell!_

He started towards the spirit just as it sent a rake flying through the air towards Dean, the teeth scraping Dean's chest before the rake tumbled into the fire below him. Sam yelled at the spirit, causing it to send Dean flying towards the oak tree before turning towards him with anger burning in its eyes. _Uh oh. Not good. What do I do now? Wonder if salt works… pure iron seems to do so. I wonder… it's holding the amulet in its hand – if I sever that connection…_ He threw his canister of salt towards it but was disappointed when the spirit didn't dissolve but rather simple flickered for a few moments before once again re-gaining its shape before him. It did give him the chance to get close to it, though, and when it started to lift the hand holding the amulet towards him to once again send him flying, he cut straight through its ethereal wrist, effectively (had it been a human being of flesh and blood) cutting its hand off.

The spirit screeched, the sound cutting through the air, deafening the cracking of the flames, reverberating in Sam's ears, almost robbing him of consciousness. It was a scream of despair, of loss, but also a scream for vengeance on the one that had robbed it of its long-sought amulet, the one thing that would give it freedom to roam the place for all eternity. Then the scream cut off as the touch of the pure iron took effect and it dissolved in the moonlight.

Sam grabbed the amulet, trying to break it by twisting the leather holding the vial and, when that didn't work, stepping on it, hoping to break the glass, but nothing worked. _I have to break it, it's the only way to get rid of it, I have to break it before it comes back to finish what it started. Dean! Oh my God, Dean, I have to see if he's ok! Maybe the heat from the fire will destroy it?_ He ran towards Dean, stopping only to thrown the amulet into the hottest remaining embers and dousing it with salt from Dean's canister that lay abandoned beside the grave. Then he knelt down beside his unconscious brother.

_Oh my God, Dean, you… you've lost a lot of blood! Oh, Dean, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I was too late to save you from this, I should have warned you, I should've prevented this, I'm so sorry, Dean, please be ok!_

He felt for a pulse and was relieved to find it steady although weaker than he would have liked it to be. _He must be loosing blood… I have to stop that… How many things did that son of a bitch throw at him before I got here?_ He gently rolled Dean onto his side to survey the damage done by the spirit and flinched at the sight of Dean's blood-soaked, tattered t-shirt clinging to his chest. The largest patch of blood seemed to be low on his left side, just above the waistband of his jeans. The rest seemed to be more or less superficial scratches, although a nasty cut on the side of his head also worried Sam. He grabbed Dean's sweatshirt that was lying next to the grave and bundled it up to make a patch of cloth that might help him stem the bleeding. Then he lightly lifted Dean's shirt to reveal a nasty, ragged cut bleeding profusely. _Oh, God, Dean, I'm so sorry!_

He pressed the shirt against the wound, at the same time checking if any of Dean's other wounds needed stemming, but affirming his first impression that it was that one that presented the biggest problem. 'Just hold on, Dean, you'll be ok! This'll stop the bleeding, and then Dad can take you to the hospital to get you sewed up. You'll be ok, Dean, don't worry. I'm so sorry about this, I should've prevented it, it's my fault you got hurt… But you'll be ok, Dean, you'll be ok!' Realising that the words were more for himself than for Dean, _he can't hear you, he's unconscious!_ Sam grew silent again. _He has to be ok, he has to! __The amulet… I have to check if the fire destroyed it. It may have, the spirit hasn't come back yet._

Placing Dean's hand on the shirt to keep up the pressure, he rose and quickly went back to the grave, where his hopes were disappointed: the amulet lay there, still intact, among the embers. The vial seemed to glow angrily, the blood inside reflecting the orange and red of the embers. _Damnit, that didn't work! How am I going to break it then?_ He looked around him searching for something with which he could reach down and pick up the amulet and breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that the rake that he had seen the spirit throw at Dean now rested against the side of the grave within his reach.

He grabbed it and poked one of its teeth through a hole in the amulet, then brought it up and laid it on the grass beside him, figuring it would be too hot to touch after lying in the embers, pondering how he could destroy it and get rid of the spirit for good.

Before he could act, he felt a rapid drop in temperature behind him, and, turning, he saw the spirit hovering near Dean. Making a quick grab for the amulet, he felt his fingers closing around it but in the same moment, a hammer hit his already-bruised ribs full force, numbing his entire body and making him drop the amulet again. 'So, little plaything, you didn't listen, did you? You seem overly concerned about this guy… friend of yours? Or perhaps… perhaps brother?' Seeing Sam's reaction at the word, it cackled evilly. 'Brother it is. Now, I wonder how you'd feel knowing that I killed him with your knife?' _No, not Dean, no! You stay away from him, you hear me?_

Suddenly, Sam saw the moonlight glinting in his knife that was now slowly revolving in the air near the spirit. _No, no, no, not the knife, he'll never survive if it throws that thing at him, it's so sharp it'll cut a hair in two, I sharpened it only last night. Oh God, what do I do, what do I do?_ Without conscious thought and praying that he was faster than the spirit, Sam leaped towards Dean, shielding his brother's body with his own as the spirit threw the knife towards them.

He felt a knock against his side but didn't really feel the knife slice through his body. He knew the pain would come, though, once he was forced to move and tear the two sides of the wound from each other, disturbing the paper-thin cut that the knife was bound to have made. _At least it didn't hit Dean. I only hope the cut isn't too deep, I need to take care of that amulet._ Then he felt himself being picked up again, held in the air for a few seconds, before being thrown against the oak. _This is getting to be rather tiresome. Wonder if the guy was a squash player in his former life? Or rather, in his life. Just wish he wouldn't use me as a ball, I don't bounce that well. And boy, did I just sound like Dean!_

He slowly tried to pick himself up off the ground, the broken ribs and now-opened wound in his side making themselves felt, the wetness of his shirt a clear sign that the cut was indeed serious. He looked at the spirit that was now moving towards the amulet. _Oh, no, you don't!_ He felt a surge of adrenaline that enabled him to fight the dizziness and pain that threatened to overwhelm him and stumbled towards the spirit that for some reason seemed unable to pick up the amulet. _What's that? Smoke? From the amulet? But the fire didn't damage it. What's going on? Never mind, I have to get rid of it! _The spirit being distracted by the amulet, it didn't notice Sam until it was too late for it and he once again managed to slide the iron blade through its form, dissolving it.

_Hope it stays gone for a while now, it seems to be gone for longer and longer the more times I get rid of it_. He bent down to reach for the amulet, gasping in pain as the movement grated his broken ribs and once again opened the wound in his side. His hand stilled before he touched the amulet when he noticed how the parts of it that were smoking were placed in a distinct pattern. _That… that almost looks like a handprint… What…? My hand? When I picked it up before? But why? Oh my God!_ He looked down at his hands, covered in Dean's blood. _Blood! They bound it by a blood sacrifice, it must have been blood unwillingly given… And now Dean's blood is added to that, messing with the power of that ritual… I have to stop that… What was it Dad taught us about blood rituals… bound in blood, broken in blood… _

He placed the amulet in his left hand, then pulled up his shirt, exposing the long gash in his side that was bleeding freely. _Maybe if I counteract with a ritual using my own blood, willingly given…Maybe that small ritual will work…_ Gritting his teeth, he used his right hand to press beneath the wound, letting his blood pool in the palm of his hand. Then he drew the hand up above his left, slowly tilting it to let the blood flow downwards, drawing a circle around the amulet. 'In blood you were made,' he said in a chanting voice, then shifted his right hand, using the flowing blood to draw a five-pointed star on the amulet. 'In blood you are now broken,' he continued, then held his breath as he drew the last line of the star.

At first, nothing happened, then the amulet started to glow where his blood mixed with Dean's, and the smoke increased. Where their blood touched the vial in the middle, the glass started glowing red-hot like an ember, their blood seeming to burn through the glass to mix with the blood within. Sam found himself unable to tear his eyes from the sight, unable to drop the amulet although the heat it exuded seared his palm.

Suddenly the spirit reappeared before him, reaching for the amulet with desperate hands, terror evident on its face. Then both the amulet and the spirit exploded in tiny, blood-red fragments that hit Sam like drops of ice-cold water, the spirit's dying scream echoing in the forest.

Sam sank to his knees, the pain, dizziness and relief of tension threatening to overwhelm him. _No, not now, I have to check on Dean, I have to know that he's ok!_ He slowly crawled to his brother's side, once again checking his pulse. _It seems weaker… Oh my God, Dean, I'm so sorry, I've screwed up again, haven't I?_ He gently lifted Dean's hand to check the wound, noting that although the blood flow had slowed down, it still bled way too much for his liking. _No, no, I have to stop that, I have to get you to a hospital…_He started when Dean suddenly stirred, trying to pull away from his hand once again pressing the shirt to the wound. 'Stay still, Dean, you have to stay still, I'll get you help, ok? Just hang on, I'll get you help.' He once again placed Dean's hand on the shirt, giving it a quick squeeze. 'Hold this here, Dean, this'll stop the bleeding.' _I have to help him… My fault he's hurt… My fault…_

Suddenly he heard his father's voice from the house, calling out for Dean. The voice sent a stab of fear through him, fear of once again becoming the target of his father's scorn, of hearing how he was such a screw-up that he always put them in danger. He saw his father turning the corner, running towards Dean, and quickly shrunk into the shadows of the trees. _He'll get Dean to the hospital, he's running, that means he isn't badly hurt, that he can drive the car. Oh my God, please hurry, Dad, get him help. Great job, once again I need Dad to clean up the mess I've made. I almost got both of them killed tonight because I wasn't fast enough. I should've warned Dean before going into the house, hell, I shouldn't have let that thing take the amulet from me in the first place, maybe then none of this would have happened… Oh God, Dean, please hang on!_

He felt the guilt growing in him, solidifying, turning into a solid wall around his mind, keeping him from his father and brother, sealing him away inside his own world. He stayed hidden in the trees while John checked on Dean, talking quietly to him, praising him for getting rid of the spirit and having the presence of mind to grab the shirt to stop the bleeding. Then he gently helped the now-conscious Dean stand and supported him back towards the Impala. A few moments later, Sam heard the familiar rumble of the engine and saw the red of the taillights as the car disappeared down the driveway, gravel spurting from its wheels as John gunned the engine to speed Dean to the hospital to get help.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Present

Dean looked as Sam in horror when his voice tapered out, the pain from the memories of that night very clear in his voice and eyes. 'Sam… Sammy, listen to me…' His voice tapered off, the enormity of Sam's story hitting him full force. 'Oh my God, Sam, you did a blood ritual to get rid of that thing? Do you realise how dangerous that can be???? You shouldn't have done that!'

Noticing how Sam seemed to withdraw even further into himself, Dean realised that his words had come out much harder than he intended. 'No, Sam, I didn't mean… I mean, you could've gotten hurt, badly… Who knows what that ritual might have done to you if it had gone wrong?'

'I had no choice, Dean. You and Dad were in danger, I had to do something before the spirit killed you. I'd already screwed up so much, I couldn't live with myself if I got one of you killed just because I wasn't willing to take a risk,' Sam replied, his voice almost breaking at the words.

_My God, not only was he there the whole time and saw the whole thing, he also blames himself for it! No, Sam, no, it wasn't your fault! How can I convince you of t__hat? Maybe if I tell him that I knew he was there – well, maybe not knew, but thought he was…_

'Sam, listen to me. What happened to me and Dad wasn't your fault. Hell, you managed what we couldn't do… you managed to banish it time and time again with that knife of yours, and you were the one who got rid of it for good. And more than that, you saved both of our lives, Sam!' _He did… He took a knife for me! Oh Sammy, I'm sorry, you shouldn't have done that for me, what would I have done if you'd gotten yourself killed for my sake?_

'You know, I realised you were there… I heard you, felt your hands on mine holding that shirt against my wound… At the time I thought I was hallucinating because I wanted you to be there so badly… But you were really there, Sam, you were really there…' _Do you realise how much it meant to me to sense you there, even though I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me? What your voice meant to me, what that touch of your hand meant?_

Dean looked at Sam, whose bowed head let his hair hide his eyes from Dean. 'Sam? You with me, little brother? You hearing what I'm saying? It wasn't your fault. None of it was. You did whatever you could to warn us, you found that amulet – Damn good hunting there, by the way – you fought that thing, saving Dad, saving me… You did nothing wrong, Sam.'

_Is he at all listening to what I'm saying?__ What is going on with him?_

'Sam? Sammy?'

Dean quickly rose, kneeling down in front of Sam, lightly shaking his shoulders, trying to make him acknowledge him. But when he saw Sam's eyes, he realised that his brother was once more caught up in the memories that kept tormenting him, shutting him off from Dean.

_No, Sam, stay with me, don't let those memories get to you, whatever they are… _

'You almost died, Dean…' Sam's voice was barely more than a whisper.

'Well, I didn't, because you saved me! You got rid of that spirit, you took that knife for me!' Dean used his best persuasive-big-brother voice in the hope that it would enable him to get through to Sam again.

'It wasn't enough, I should have prevented that, if I had then you wouldn't have been, you wouldn't have… ' Dean realised that Sam was shaking as he was revisited by visions of the events of that day, and suddenly he understood what Sam was talking about.

_He knows! Not only was he there that night, he was also there later… Oh no, no, no, no, it can't be, it can't have been, he can't have been there all along, all through that, he can't have seen me like that, he just can't…_ But the sinking feeling in his stomach, the empty hollow pit that slowly drained all thoughts from his head left only that one realisation _he was there, he saw it. He was there all along! _And screaming in his head was the proof that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't deny the facts that were staring him in the eyes, evidenced by Sam's continued tremors.

Then Sam took a couple of gulping breaths and continued his story once again.

_**To Be Continued**_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I can't thank you enough for the amazing response I'm getting. It means the world to me. As always a huge thank you to my wonderful beta MuffyMorrigan who in spite of everything still supports and helps me with my writing. Thank you, sis! _

_I can't claim any medical knowledge, so I apologise if I've made any glaring mistakes. _

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter Five**

Past

When the Impala's taillights finally disappeared, Sam sank to his knees among the trees, the tight knot of fear in his stomach for Dean's sake taking his breath away. _Please hurry, Dad, please get him help, I think he needs it badly! He's lost so much blood… Dean, please be ok, I don't know what I'd do if you…_ Against his will, a sob escaped him at the thought. _No, stop that, he's going to be ok. He has to._ _I just wish I could be there with him in the hospital. What if it's serious and I'm not there? It looked so serious! But he wouldn't want me there, it's my fault he's hurt. Oh God, Dean, I'm so sorry!_

When he finally rose to go back to Zach's car, he felt the pain from the wound in his side and noticed that his t-shirt and waistband of his jeans were soaked through with blood. _Shit! Looks like I'm going to need stitches… I can't go to the hospital, what if I meet Dad…_ His mind flinched at the thought of the anger that he would see on his father's face when he told him how he'd screwed up. _How I got them both hurt, and Dean seriously… That wound looked so bad. No, I can't go there, I can't face him right now. I'll have to do it myself._

He started back through the woods towards the car, noticing absent-mindedly that somehow he'd managed to grab hold of both his knife and his canisters of salt and gasoline when he hid in the forest. _At least they won't find any evidence that I was here. Dad is going to come back and close up the grave once he's sure Dean's out of danger._ The thought caused another stab of terror in Sam's stomach. _Please, Dean, please be ok, please come through this._

Reaching the car, he opened the front door, dumped the canisters and the knife behind the front seat and grabbed his jacket from the back, spreading it over the front seat before getting in. _I hope I don't get blood on the seats… That would be a little difficult to explain._ Then he started the car and headed back to Stanford, his dorm room and a first-aid job he was in no way looking forward to.

When he got there, he pulled the car into the parking lot, got out and draped his jacket around the canisters and the knife before heading for his room. _Better not get caught walking down the hall with that one in my hands, they might think I'm some kind of lunatic. Story of my life, isn't it, always hiding something away._ When he was about to enter his room, he heard Zach calling his name.

'Hey, Winchester, you're back! Did things turn out ok?'

_Did things turn out ok? No, not really… My brother's badly hurt and in hospital, may even be dying… Dean, please hang on! My father almost got killed by a homicidal spirit, and I've got a couple of broken ribs not to mention a gash in my side that I really need to get stitched up before it gets any worse.__ Oh, and I may have a slight concussion and I hope to Hell that you won't notice the blood on my shirt or in my hair. And I might be a little freaked, no, a lot, I'm starting to sound like Dean._

'Yeah, everything's ok now. Thanks for letting me borrow your car again! Hey, can I keep the keys until tomorrow? I may have to do a quick errand sometime early tomorrow,' he said, trying to appear normal.

'Sure, no problem, just fill her up before you return her, would you? And are you sure you're ok, you look a little pale?' Zach said.

'Yep, no sweat, _mate_, as you would say, I'm fine. Just had a rough couple of days with the food poisoning and all. I just need a little rest, that's all.'

'If you say so. See you tomorrow, then!' Zach left him, giving him his trademark parting knock on the arm, not noticing as he walked away that the consequent jolt of Sam's ribs almost brought him to his knees, the only things stopping him being his iron will and the wall he was leaning against.

He struggled for a moment to catch his breath, then opened the door to his room and stumbled inside, sinking down to sit on the bed. His head was pounding, the wound in his side was stinging and his ribs hurt with every breath he took. _Of all crappy days… I thought I was done with this… But the pain isn't the worst, the fear… Oh God, the fear. How could I ever think that I could escape that? That not knowing would be better than knowing? And now I've screwed everything up and I can't even be with him now that he's… Dean, please be ok, please… This is killing me, being apart from him… from them. But they wouldn't want me there after what I've done… I've failed them again, I'll never be good enough, I don't belong with them. But oh God…_

He fought to hold back the tears of desolation and fear that pressed behind his eyes. _I have to snap out of this, I have to focus upon what I have to do… First rule of first aid: Stop the damage. _He slowly rose and fetched his first aid kit from the closet. Then he sat down next to the desk, laying out the things he needed on top of it and pulling the wastepaper basket closer. _There's no way I'll be able to pull my t-shirt over my head, I have to cut it off. The blood's probably ruined it anyway. Dean… No, I have to focus, they won't know anything about his condition now anyway… I wonder if Dad will call me, if…God, what do I say if he does? FOCUS, Sam! You've got a job to do here._ He shook his head slightly _shouldn't have done that_ then picked up the scissors and started on his shirt, revealing the forming bruises on his ribs and the large bloody area low on his left side.

_I have to clean it before I can see how wide it is… I hope I'll be able to reach the other end of it. This is going to be a bitch to do. But I have to, I can't go to the hospital__. And I can't rely on other people fixing my messes all the time anyway. Now get on with it! _

He took a deep, slow breath, trying to spare his ribs while doing so, then picked up a piece of clean cloth, drenched it in Iodine and proceeded to wipe off the blood on his side. _Seems like it's mostly stopped bleeding, luckily. Damn this hurts like a bitch, I have to use my left hand also, but when I lift it, I can feel those ribs…_ He gritted his teeth against the pain and continued. Soon he had cleaned the area and although the wound was long, the sharpness of the knife had made it a clean cut.

After cleaning the wound as well, fighting the nausea and threatening blackness that the stinging of the Iodine brought on, he used some pieces of Band Aid to hold the wound together while he started doing the stitches. _Guess I'm lucky I can actually reach all the way, but I swear, I'm never going to do this again. I wish Dean was here… Dean, please be ok! _The breath hissed between his teeth with every stitch as he steeled himself to push the needle through his own flesh to suture the wound. Fighting the black spots before his eyes, he forced himself to continue without pause, knowing that if he let up for only a few minutes, he'd never be able to start over again.

When he was finally finished, he placed a sterile gauze patch over the length of the wound, sticking it in place with pieces of surgical tape. The he dropped all the blood-stained pieces of cloth into the wastepaper basket _better remember to empty that one out tomorrow before anyone sees it_, rose, and stumbled to the bed, grabbing his phone from the bedside table before allowing himself to gingerly lay back into the pillows. _Damn, should have wrapped those ribs as well… But they don't feel that bad, it'll have to wait until tomorrow. Dad would kill me for that thought, not to mention Dean, but there's just no way I'm getting back over to that table right now._

Trying not to let the fear for Dean, which now hit him full force, bring him down, he tried to steady his breathing before grabbing the phone book and, finding the number of the hospital he'd visited earlier that day _was it only this morning?_ he dialled the number with trembling hands, holding his breath, the only words screaming in his mind _Dean, please be ok, please be ok, DEAN!_ When the phone was picked up, he was surprised at the steadiness of his tone when he proceeded to enquire into the health of his cousin Dean Harrison who had just been admitted to the ER following a bad accident. The nurse asked him to wait a few moments while she made enquiries, moments that felt like the longest in Sam's life, his whole body trembling, his insides twisting together into a huge Gordian knot that would never loosen.

The nurse came back on the line. 'He was in pretty bad shape when he came in, and it may still be hit and miss with him, but they just finished operating on him and they expect him to make it,' she said in a compassionate voice. Sam stammered a 'thank you', then hung up, the relief making his body tremble almost more violently than the fear had just moments before. Tears ran unnoticed down his face when he finally succumbed to the welcoming darkness of sleep, able to do so now that he knew that Dean was going to make it.

'_Dean, where's Dad?'_ '_He's with Pastor Jim, you know that, Sammy, he told us when he left last night where he was going.' 'But Dean, what are they doing? Dad doesn't even like Pastor Jim's church, why does he go there so much?' Dean sighed. _You don't want to know, Sammy, please stop the questions, ok?_ 'They're out helping people, Sammy, like Dad has told you…It's important, so that other children like you and me don't have to lose their mother like we did.' Sam looked at Dean with a frown on his little face. 'Why did no one help Dad and Mommy, Dean, so Mommy didn't have to leave?'_

Sam shifted in his bed, the pain from his side causing him to roll onto his right side.

_Sam was sitting in the Impala, thinking what an absolutely shitty way this was to spend his 12__th__ birthday. His brother and father had gone off into the woods, telling him to stay in the car and keep the doors locked. _I hate it when they go off without me, I hate this waiting, not knowing… Oh God, please let them come back unhurt!_ He tried to concentrate on the book he'd brought along for the purpose, but the only thing he could think about was that Dean might get hurt in the hunt. He started when someone - _DEAN!_ – knocked on the window, then quickly unlocked the doors to let his father and brother into the car. 'Woohooo, Sammy, you should have seen it! I shot that sucker right in the heart! And boy, did it make a nice fire afterwards!' Noticing Sam's discomfort even in his adrenaline-induced high, Dean placed his arm around Sam's shoulders, holding him close to him for a few seconds. 'What do you say, kiddo, that we rent a movie and spend the night with pizza to celebrate your birthday, huh?' 'You remembered?' 'Of course, I did. Who knows, there might even be a present waiting for you back in the motel room! Happy birthday, Sammy!' Dean ruffled Sam's hair. 'Yes, happy birthday, Sam,' his father echoed from the front seat. 'Dean?' He added. 'You did good out there, son. You did good.'_

Sam shifted again, groaning as his movements sent a stab of pain into his ribs. Then he was once again swallowed by the memories haunting his dreams.

'_Happy 18__th__ birthday, Sammy!' Dean said, handing Sam an oddly-shaped gift. 'It's Sam,' the now-automatic reply came as Sam, strangely pleased that Dean had gotten him a present and seemed highly excited about it, took the gift and started unwrapping it. When he removed the paper, he revealed a wicked knife, its blade curved and looking extremely sharp and menacing. Sam looked up at Dean, speechless. 'Dean… Thank you. This must've cost a fortune!' Dean shrugged. 'Well, it isn't every day that your pain-in-the-ass little brother turns 18, is it? And anyway, with me going off on hunts of my own soon, you need something to defend yourself, right?' His flippant tone betrayed the seriousness of his words. Sam recognised the knife for what it was and tried to hide the thoughts running through his mind. _Thank you, Dean, it's a wonderful gift, but soon I won't be needing it. I'm sorry I haven't told you yet, but I'm soon done with hunting. I just hope you will understand and accept my decision. I know Dad won't.

'Dean?' Sam softly called in his sleep. When he received no reply, he pulled the covers closer to him, almost waking when his hand brushed against the wound in his side, but the call of his dreams was too strong and pulled him under once again.

_The knife was floating in the air, slowly revolving. 'Now, I wonder how you'd feel knowing that I killed him with your knife?' the spirit said. Then the knife flew towards Dean before Sam could react, embedding itself in his chest, blood spurting from his mouth seconds later. _

'DEAN!' Sam was violently jolted awake by the pain that the nightmare-induced scream caused in his ribs. He struggled to catch his breath while at the same time sparing his ribs, the terror of the nightmare latching on to him like a leech, unwilling to let him go. _Dean! Something's wrong, something's terribly, horribly wrong. Something's happened during the night, maybe he's… I have to go to him, I have to go there now! Hold on, Dean, I'm coming!_

He scrambled out of bed as fast as his bruised body allowed him to, his hands shaking while he pulled on his clothes and shoes, then grabbed the car keys from the desk and ran from his room to the parking lot. The sun was rising in the sky as he sped down the road, the brightness of the sky an ironic contrast to the black turmoil he felt rolling inside him. His nightmarish vision of Dean falling, drenched in blood, with the knife in his chest, kept pulling itself across Sam's eyes in spite of his continuous attempts to tell himself that _it's just a dream. It didn't happen._ The dread that the nightmare had caused came close to wearing down his last defences, finishing a job that had started with the phone call to Pastor Jim only two days earlier.

_I never thought it would be this bad, that being apart can even be worse than hunting together… I thought I would be free of the fear when I went to Stanford, that I would finally be able to feel safe, not having to __feel this terrible dread all the time… But ignorance is worse than knowing. Can I do this? It was so easy to leave back then – Dad made it easy. But this… this being apart from them when Dean is hurt… It's killing me. And it won't be the last time it happens, I know that. What if… What if someday one of them dies and I'm not there? Can I ever forgive myself if that happens?_

The emotions tore through him, the need to be with his family battling against the knowledge that he didn't fit into what his father called 'the family business' and the suspicion _no, it's more than a suspicion now, I heard Dean say it!_ that they might not even want him there anymore.

He finally arrived at the hospital, relieved to find no sign of the Impala in the parking lot. _Dad's probably gone to clean up the grave and all that. That must mean that Dean is ok, if something's wrong, Dad would be here! At least I hope so. Maybe that'll give me time to sneak into Dean's room. I need to see him, if only for a few moments. I just hope he won't send me away, if he's awake. I almost hope he isn't, I'm not sure I could take hearing him say that to my face…_

He got out of the car and slowly made his way to the front entrance. He approached the woman at the front desk and enquired about the room number of one Dean Harrison, trying to still the trembling in his body. She gave him the number and informed him that visiting hours were not until two hours later, so he would have to wait until then to visit his 'cousin'. _She doesn't sound concerned or compassionate, maybe he really is ok, maybe I was just freaked out because of the nightmare. I hope so, Dean, please be ok._ He thanked her and walked towards the waiting rooms down the hall. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her turn towards her computer screen, and he quickly went up the staircase to the next floor where Dean's room was located.

When he got to the top of the stairs, he looked around to locate Dean's room number, but he was distracted by a group of nurses and doctors running down the hall towards a room at the other end, pulling various medical equipments with them. When he stepped into the hall and noticed the numbers on the walls between the rooms, he felt all life drain from his body. _Dean! No! Dean!_ He stumbled down the hall as fast as he could, coming to a halt at the open door to Dean's room.

'Charging, clear!' The doctor's commanding voice resonated in Sam's mind. Dean's body bucked underneath the paddles, but the whining note of the machine next to him didn't change. 'Charging, clear!' Dean's body bucked again. _Come on, Dean, oh, please come on!_ Sam held his breath along with the doctor and nurses, only releasing it once he heard the steady sound of the machine. He felt his entire body shake with a mixture of shock and relief, his legs barely able to carry his weight as he leaned heavily on the wall.

As if in a daze, not really understanding what they said, he heard the doctor give the nurses orders to keep his brother sedated and to change the antibiotics ASAP. 'It seems he's having an allergic reaction to the new antibiotics that we gave him this morning,' he heard the doctor say, but all he could think was _he almost died… no, he actually died, they had to bring him back… and it's my fault, it's my fault, I should have stopped it…_ Once he heard the doctor say that Dean was stable again, he turned around and walked slowly towards the staircase, the guilt and shock over what he had just witnessed filling him, and he knew that if it wasn't for the fact that he hadn't eaten anything for almost a day, he would have vomited all over the floor. _He almost died… Oh God, he almost died because of me…_

When he finally got to Zach's car, he couldn't remember how he got there, he just suddenly found himself sitting behind the steering wheel. His hands were trembling so hard, he could barely turn the key in the ignition, but he finally managed it, pulling out of the parking lot and instinctively ducking when he saw the familiar black Impala turn into the parking lot from the other direction just as he left.

On the drive home, he tried in vain to stop the tears that rolled silently down his cheeks, the horror of seeing his brother _dead, he was dead!_ playing over and over in his mind. _Maybe I should have stayed… but how could I, knowing it was my fault… I have no right to be there…Oh Dean, I'm so sorry! I can never go back, never… _The realisation stuck him full force in that moment, and he had to quickly pull over to avoid crashing into another car in his inability to concentrate on driving. _I can never go back, if they ever learn what I did, how I almost got them killed… Dad would be so angry, and Dean… Oh God, Dean, I'm so sorry. He'd… he'd despise me. I can't take that, I can't see that look on his face… Then better to stay away, hide the truth… Never let them know, never risk them finding out the truth. That's what I'm going to do. They'll be fine without me, and I'll have to be fine without them. _

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that his decision arose in him, then pulled out into the traffic again and drove the rest of the way back to Stanford.

Once back in his dorm room, he lay down on his bed, exhausted but unable to sleep after what he had seen and the decision he had made. Every time he tried to close his eyes, the image of Dean being resuscitated played on the insides of his eyelids and the unbroken scream of the machine resounded in his ears. Sleep escaping him, his mind was instead attacked by the stark realisation that he now had to face a future without his family in it. The feeling of loneliness returned, tearing through him, breaking down the last pieces that were left after the exploding guilt that had ripped him apart earlier that morning.

_I only wanted to make them proud, to show them that even though I'm no good as a hunter, I still have abilities, I can still do good in the world… I thought __they would understand why I chose law school… But they don't… They don't, and now with this I can never go back… Oh God, I can't share this with them… Can't share anything with them any longer… They won't be here when I graduate…_ The thought of not being able to share those important moments, those achievements, with the ones who meant the most to him left him feeling empty and desolate.

Realising that there was no way he was going to be able to sleep, he went to the desk where he found the bottle of painkillers in the first-aid kit. Swallowing two with a mouthful of water, he noticed that there were only four left and made a mental note to buy some more later that day. He considered going to get some breakfast, but the mere thought of eating made him feel nauseous. _How can I eat when Dean is fighting for his life because of me?_ Then he proceeded to clean away all evidence of his suturing work the night before and stored away the first-aid kit. Finally, he carefully cleaned his knife, the sight and smell of the blood almost making him gag. Then he stored that away as well.

Afterwards, he sat down at his desk and started working on a paper he had due the following week, knowing that the familiar work routine would serve to calm him some. He tried to concentrate on the paper, but every time his thoughts strayed to Dean, his stomach clenched with fear, and more than once he had to fight back tears when he thought about the decision he had made. He called the hospital a couple of times during the day, each time holding his breath until he got the reassuring answer that Dean was ok and would suffer no after-effects of what happened that morning, and that the new antibiotics seemed to be working well. _Thank God, he's going to be ok, or so they say. I hope they're right, they said the same thing last night, and then this morning… Oh Dean, please be ok!_

Finally, late in the afternoon, he couldn't take it anymore. _They tell me that he's ok, that he's improving. But I have to see him, I can't go the rest of my life with that image of him being brought back to life being the last one I've got. I need to… I need to see him._ With that thought, he rose from his chair and, fighting a short spell of dizziness _have to get some food when I get back_, he once again set off for the hospital, hoping against hope that his father would have gone to get dinner and that Dean would be asleep.

_What am I going to do? I need to see him… But Dad won't let me, if I meet him I won't be able to hide the truth from him… I can't let him see me, I can't let him keep me from Dean. And even if Dean won't want me to be there, I still need to see him, I need to know that he's ok…_ _I have to see him one final time_. The closing thought tore through him, but he gritted his teeth and fought down the grief that it caused him with a determined effort. _It's the right decision. Better they don't know. I can't let them know. Am I being a coward?_ The image of his father's disapproving face and sound of his scornful voice came to his mind. _No. If I don't stay away, I'll have to tell him and he'll just repeat those words he said, tell me to never come back. He'd go ballistic if he knew that I almost caused Dean's death. I can't… I can't face that. I just can't._­

He soon found himself at the hospital and started towards Dean's room with growing trepidation, fearing what he might find when entering the room.

What he found was almost complete silence. Dean lay on the bed, pale, sleeping, oblivious to the world, the only thing proving that he was still alive the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Sam released a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding, then slowly went to sit in the chair beside Dean's bed, careful not to disturb the IV in his arm. 'Dean?' he quietly asked, not wanting to wake up his brother, yet somehow both hoping he would and hoping he wouldn't. _God, he looks so awful… those bruises… seems it wasn't just his body that the spirit targeted with those tools… I hope they're right in saying that the new antibiotics are working. But he doesn't look sweaty or feverish, just exhausted. Oh God, I can't do this, this can't be goodbye, I can't stand the thought of never seeing him again, I just can't. I have to find some way to keep in touch with him, I have to make him forgive me. _

Unconsciously, he placed his hand on top of Dean's, needing the contact to confirm to him that Dean was ok. 'Hey, Dean… I don't want to wake you up, you probably need all the rest you can get, but I wanted to say this to you now that I have the chance…' he said quietly, his voice hardly more than a whisper, thickened by the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him now that he was reunited with his brother. He frowned, then took a deep breath and went on. 'I'm so sorry for this, Dean. I should have prevented it, but I screwed up. I know I don't belong with you, Dean… I never did. I'm not a hunter at heart, that's not the life I want. And I suck at it anyway. But that doesn't mean I don't… that I don't want anything to do with you, Dean. God, man, if you knew how much I've missed you since I left… And I know that you're angry at me right now and don't want to see me, and if you knew what happened last night you would be even more angry…but Dean, I hope that maybe someday we can be friends again. I can't…'

He swallowed. 'I need you, Dean. I need to know that you're there for me, out there somewhere. That you're only a phone call away. I can't do this alone, not knowing where you are or what you're doing. I can't, Dean.' He angrily wiped at the tears that had started down his face. 'You'd laugh at me if you saw me now, wouldn't you? A Winchester crying. You'd never do that, nor would Dad. Which I guess is just one more proof that I'm different than you, isn't it? I guess you really are better off without me. Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you like that last night and this morning, knowing that it was my fault? What it feels like to know that some day I'm going to cause your death if I keep hunting? I can't live with that, Dean. But I can't live without you either.'

He stopped suddenly, hearing raised voices from the hallway. When he recognised one of them as his father's he panicked, knowing there was no way he could get out of the room unseen. Instead, he hid in the bathroom. _And how clichéd is that? Dean would laugh his head off if he ever heard about this. _Moments later, he heard John enter the room, the tail-end of his conversation with a doctor or nurse audible through the door. 'I know it isn't visiting hours yet, but I have things to do and I want to be with my son right now. Period.' _Good luck arguing with that voice. If you succeed in getting him out of here, you'll be the first one ever._ He heard an annoyed but resigned huff, then the door closed and his father was alone in the room with Dean.

Sam heard the chair creak and his father sigh, then John started talking to Dean, just like Sam had done moments before. He used a tone that Sam had seldom, maybe never, heard before; a gentle, tired, almost sad tone, revealing more emotion than he usually allowed. 'Hey, Dean. I cleared up out at the house. It should be ok now, no evidence left and the spirit gone for good. Good thing you managed to torch the bones before it went for you, son.' He sighed. 'They say you're going to be fine, you just need to rest for a day or two. But it was a close call, you lost a lot of blood. And then this morning… I can't tell you how sorry I am that I wasn't here when that happened. When I came back and they told me… You gave me a little scare there, kiddo, you know that?' The chair creaked again, indicating that his father had shifted slightly. 'There were some missed calls on my phone last night, with a California area code. I wonder if it's one of my contacts or if maybe it was Sam. But he doesn't know we're here, so I doubt it. I thought about calling him, letting him know you're hurt, but I haven't. You said last night that you didn't want me to, so I haven't. But I think you should call him when you wake up, you know. Maybe let him know you're in the area.'

Sam heard a low sound, then it was repeated, a little louder.

'No.'

Then John's voice, questioning. 'Dean? Are you awake? What?'

Dean's voice, slightly stronger. 'I said no, Dad. Don't call him. Not now. Don't want… see him now.'

'Ok, Dean, I won't. Don't talk, son, just rest, ok?' He paused. 'I'll just go back to the hotel and take a shower, then I'll be right back. And I'll talk to the doctor, find out when I can get you out of here, right? Ok, see you later, son.' Then Sam heard the door open and close again. He stood completely still in the bathroom, paralysed by once again hearing that Dean didn't want to see him, that even though their father wanted to, he didn't let him call him. His mind went blank, filled with a blind panic that left no room for thought, he was unable to hold on anymore and he felt himself break into a million little pieces at the final rejection from the one person who had always been the glue holding him together, the rock upon which he was standing. He felt like he was being suffocated, the emotions threatening to rob him of air; his empty stomach rebelled, threatening to spill its meagre contents, and his knees trembled, threatening to give in and leave him lying on the floor. _I have to get out of here, I have to get away, they can't find me here, I have to get away… I don't belong here, I don't deserve to be here, Dean doesn't want to be near me._

Finally he re-gained enough control to be able to silently open the door and look out of the crack at Dean, who seemed to have gone back to sleep. Then he walked to the door and slid out, across the hallway and down the staircase. He stumbled into the entrance hall and was on his way to the front door when a nurse stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Hey, son, are you alright?' Sam nodded, then, seeing her concerned look, realised that he must look a mess with tears running down his cheeks, pale face and hunched pose as he unconsciously cradled his left arm to spare his bruised ribs and the wound in his side from being jostled. He straightened slightly and answered her more convincingly. 'Yes, thank you, I'm fine. Just got some bad news, I'm afraid.' He flashed her a small smile then continued on his way out the door. _Please just let me go, I don't want to crumble here in front of them, and Dad might be back any minute. Please, I have to get home, please don't stop me again._

His unhindered escape out the doors did not bring him any sense of relief, though, as he continued across the parking lot towards the car, almost running the last few paces to hide inside its relative safety. _Keep it together just a little while longer, I need to get home. I'm not going to show them how I feel, I can't face their questions. Keep it together, don't lose it now. Don't think about them, don't think about Dad and for God's sake don't think about Dean. _He turned the key in the ignition and sped towards the empty dorm room that he now called home.

Once back there, he lay down on his bed, this time instantly falling asleep, not realising that the tremors wracking his body and the nausea he felt were not just effects of the storm of emotions raging inside him but rather symptoms of something much more serious.

_**To be continued**_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Although we don't celebrate Thanksgiving here in Denmark, I'll take the opportunity to thank the universe for letting me meet my wonderful beta and __mentor MuffyMorrigan, who I can honestly say has changed my life. Thank you, sis!_

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter 6**

Present

Dean thought he had been shocked by Sam's earlier revelations, but these final ones struck him as if he had been punched in the stomach. Several times over. _Oh God, Sam, I'm so sorry you saw that… I can't even imagine what that must have felt like… And Sam, please don't blame yourself, you saved my life, you saved Dad's life… Can you understand that? And you sewed up that wound yourself because you were afraid how Dad and I would react if we saw you at the hospital? But wait… you were there that day? Was that what you said? Hiding in the bathroom? You heard me and Dad? Oh Sammy, that wasn't what I meant, not at all! Was that why you didn't call us later on? Why you didn't return my calls? You thought… you thought we really didn't want you with us? Oh Sam! It was never like that, never… My God, it's all my fault, those years, all my fault…_

Unable to contain the terrible guilt that welled up inside him, Dean got up and started pacing the room again, trying to ease his sudden nausea through movement, his mind shying away from imagining what Sam must have felt by seeing him being brought back to life in the hospital, only to be rejected – or so he thought – by him a few hours later.

Being at a loss as to how he could ever make Sam believe that none of what had happened was his fault, Dean suddenly stopped and stood looking at Sam for several moments, suddenly noticing the silent tears that made their way down his little brother's face as he sat at the table, head bowed, shoulders slumped in despair, light shivers running through his entire body. _I have to do something, I have to ease the pain that he's feeling. Oh Sam, I hate to see you like this, broken, and knowing that I was the cause of this… unwillingly, yes, and without knowing it, but still it was what you saw and, even more so, my words that made you believe… Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry! To think how much time those words cost us… How can I make this better, how can I convince you…_

Dean finally found his voice, realising that he had to get through to Sam right at that moment if he wasn't to lose him completely to the horrible thoughts that were about to take over his mind.

'Sam?'

Sam didn't react.

'Sammy? You in there?'

Sam moved his head slightly, indicating that he heard Dean but that he wasn't inclined to answer him.

Dean took a deep breath, then said: 'Sam, listen to me. Neither of us – not Dad, not me – would ever think that you were to blame for what happened. Ok? Yes, they had to bring me back that morning in the hospital, but that was because of something THEY did, not something you did, ok? Do you understand that? And I'm so very sorry that you had to see that. And I wish that Dad had been there, so you wouldn't have had to face it alone. He told me later that he'd gone back to the motel for the night because the doctors had told him I was ok and that he should go. He was devastated when he came back and they told him…' Dean grew still at the memory of the sheer terror he had seen in his father's eyes that day when the doctor told him what had happened.

'And listen, Sam…Those things you heard… at the motel, in the hospital… I never meant that I didn't want to see you. I meant… Hell, Sam, when I told Dad not to call you, it was because I didn't want you to know that I was hurt, I didn't want you to know what had happened to me, what that spirit did… But you already knew, you were there…' His voice tapered off again as he realised how Sam must have felt, how terrified he must have been to hide in the bathroom. Then a memory from that day struck him.

'I heard you! I heard you that day, Sam! I thought I was dreaming that I heard your voice, that I felt your hand on mine… When I woke up I looked for you, but it was Dad who was sitting next to me, so I figured… You know, for a moment there, I wished it were you sitting next to me instead of him… And you were so close, only a few feet away… If I'd only known… Hell, if Dad or I had just gone to the bathroom so we could've found you there, then maybe we could have solved it all back then…' _I know it's too late to think this way now, Sam, but how I wish we'd found you that day… Maybe you wouldn't have gone back with us…Maybe we could have helped you, oh God, Sam, sewing up that wound on your own… Wait a minute…_

'Sam… that scar… it looks so bad… it wasn't just because of you sewing it up, was it? And it wasn't just because of what you heard that you felt so bad in that bathroom, was it? It was infected, wasn't it? God, Sam, what were you thinking? You could have gotten horribly sick!' Dean's words came out harsher than he intended, the pain and regret that Sam's confession had caused making him act like a worried parent, his worry coming out as a scolding. _What if… what if he really WAS sick and I wasn't there… Infections can be really serious if they aren't treated correctly at once. Please, Sam, please tell me you didn't get an infection on top of everything else…_

Sam's only answer was a slight defeated shrug that did nothing to ease Dean's worry.

'Answer me, Goddammit, Sam! Was it infected? Did you get sick?' _Please say no, I'll never forgive myself if…_

'Yes.' Dean could hardly hear the word.

'What was that?' _Oh Sam, oh no…_

'Yes, I let it get infected, I screwed up again, I know it, ok?' Sam sounded so young and forlorn it almost broke Dean's heart.

'No, Sam, that wasn't what I meant… I didn't mean to say… I just meant…' _Me and my big mouth, I sound just like Dad, and that gets me nowhere with Sam. Sam, do you understand what the thought of you seriously ill does to me? And thinking that you were fighting that on your own…_ He felt his stomach contract at the mere thought of it. _I promise you, Sam, I'll do anything to prevent anything like that ever happening to you again. Anything. And thinking that it happened because you saved my life…_

'It's ok, Dean. I know how you feel, Hell, I feel that way about myself, I have for a long time. It seems I screw up every time I turn around, getting other people or myself hurt in the process, always needing others to sort out my messes. Seems I can't take care of anything on my own, least of all myself' Sam's voice was filled with self-contempt.

'What do you mean?' Dean asked, puzzled, dreading the answer.

Sam shrugged. 'Almost all my life you've been taking care of me. And that thing proved very well that I'm incapable of doing it myself. If it hadn't been for Zach and Becky…'

'Sam?' Dean looked at him questioningly.

Sam's shoulders slumped even more, his final defences breaking, resigning himself to telling Dean the last part of what happened during those days.

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Past

Palo Alto

When Sam woke the next morning, he knew at once that something was seriously wrong. His t-shirt was drenched with sweat, he felt shivery and nauseous, and as soon as he moved, a shaft of pain went from the wound in his side and through his entire body, lodging itself in his brain like the tip of an arrow. _Oh no, this is bad, this is really really bad… The wound must have become infected, how could I be so stupid that I didn't notice?_ Then the memory of what he had seen and heard the day before came back to him and all he wanted to do was curl up in a foetal position under the sheets, hiding away from a world where the reality of his situation was too much to bear. Fighting the sobs of loneliness that he unwillingly let out, he clenched his fists and prepared to rise from the bed to get to the first-aid kit and get ready to check the wound. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and rose to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, his head resting on a pair of jeans-clad legs, a cool sensation on his forehead.

'Sam?' a worried male voice said.

'Dean?' _No, that isn't right, it wasn't his voice… Then who?_

He heard someone move near him, the cool sensation on his forehead disappeared and he felt a gentle shake of his shoulder.

'No, mate, sorry, it's just me, Zach. And Becky.'

Sam slowly opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times in confusion. 'What happened?' he asked.

'You tell me. We knocked on your door because I needed my car keys back, and when you didn't answer and we realised the door was unlocked, we came in, and you were just lying there. What's the matter with you? This is more than just food poisoning, isn't it?' Zach said, the worry audible in his voice.

_Damn, how do I get out of this? I can't tell them what happened, I can't, they can't know… Oh God, I can't let them discover… What do I say? I wish Dean were here, he was always better at lying…_ At the thought of his brother, he felt tears starting to rise in his eyes. Forcing them back, he tried to focus on what to tell Zach and Becky. _How can I make them leave me alone? I can't let them see that wound, they would freak out not to mention want to know how I got it…_

'I'm ok, just a little fever I think, and having too little to eat yesterday, I was working on my paper and forgot to eat,' Sam said, trying to force his voice into sounding normal.

'Then what's that?' Zach said, pointing towards Sam's abdomen. Sam lifted his head from Becky's legs and looked where he pointed, paling slightly when he saw the large dark patch on his t-shirt above the patched-up wound. _Damn, must have bled through during the night. Damn, damn, damn!_ Fighting down the dizziness and pain-induced nausea that returned as soon as he started moving, Sam slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position by using his right hand, discovering that using his left jarred both the wound and his busted ribs. Leaning against his bed, he looked at his friends, suddenly touched by the worry and concern that were evident on their faces.

'Really, I'm ok. It's just a scratch, had a bit of a run-in with a branch yesterday when I went running in the park,' he said. _Please believe me. I don't like lying to you, but I have no other choice._

'And you didn't get it checked out? Sam, the way you look, it seems like you've got an infection!' Becky's voice took on a slightly freaked-out note at the last word.

'And sorry, mate, but we just found you passed out on the floor, so I'm not so sure 'ok' is a word I'd use to describe you right now,' Zach added.

Sam looked from one to the other, realising there was no way he would be able to convince them to leave him alone to deal with his wound in peace. He sighed. 'Ok, maybe it's more than a scratch. But really, I'm ok, I just need a couple of painkillers, then I'll be back upon my feet. Could you get me the first-aid kit on that shelf, Zach?'

'Sure.' Zach brought him the kit, looking at him in concern as he took out the bottle of painkillers and shook out the last two onto his palm. Before Sam could ask, he passed him the water bottle from the desk. Sam swallowed the pills, then leaned back his head to rest against his bed, waiting for them to take effect.

'Sam?' Becky's voice sounded worried. Sam opened his eyes, realising he hadn't noticed when he had closed them.

'Yeah, just give me a sec, ok? Then I'll be quite ok and back upon my feet.' He tried to sound more confident than he felt. _Maybe if I say it to them I'll believe it myself._

Zach and Becky looked at each other, then at Sam. Zach spoke first. 'Sam, mate… There's obviously something serious going on with you, and we'd like to help you, ok? And… if you don't mind my asking… Who's Dean?'

Sam closed his eyes again. _You just had to ask that, didn't you?_ 'Dean's… Dean's my brother.' His voice shook a little when he said the words.

'Brother? I never knew… Oh!' Becky's voice went from surprise to understanding. 'I guess there's a reason why you haven't told us about him.'

Sam shrugged and looked at the wall in front of him, not wanting to elaborate any further. To change the subject, he pulled up his feet, preparing to rise, hoping that might convince his friends to leave him alone and give him a chance to look at the wound. His plan was thwarted, though, when he barely started to rise and the pain from the wound returned, causing black spots to dance before his eyes, making him topple forwards. If Zach hadn't caught him, he would have ended up back on the floor. As it was, Zach supported him until he regained his balance, then helped him sit down on the bed, slumped forward with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, trying to breathe through the pain coursing through his body.

He felt more than saw Becky sit down on the bed beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. 'Sam, I don't think this is just a scratch. Please let me look at it, please let us help you, ok?' She gently tucked at his t-shirt, pulling it away from the soaked gauze patch underneath it. Sam winced slightly, then sighed in resignation. 'Need to clean hands first,' he said. _That sounded like one of Dad's orders, not very nice of me, she's just trying to help._ 'Sorry, Becky, didn't mean to sound bossy.' Becky nodded, went to wash her hands and then gently started pulling at the tape holding the gauze in place while Zach kept the t-shirt away from it. Sam gritted his teeth against the pull on his skin when the tape was ripped away from it, the slightest movement jarring the wound, sending new shafts of pain through him.

Then he heard Becky gasp. Looking down, he realised he had to raise his arm to be able to see properly. _Great, that'll reassure them_. He gingerly started to move his arm away from his body, being careful not to jar his broken ribs or the wound in the process. When he had finally lifted it far enough to see the wound, he almost wished he hadn't. The skin around it was angrily red, the edges swollen and scabs of yellow pus further evidence that it was indeed infected. _Actually I didn't need to see it to know that, the way I'm feeling that was pretty obvious. But damn, that looks serious, I'm not sure I can take care of that myself, but I don't really have a choice. I just don't know how I'm going to convince Zach and Becky about that. They seem pretty freaked._

He looked at them as they sat there staring at him, and suddenly he realised that it wasn't just the fact that the wound was infected that had silenced them, but the sheer size and nature of the wound in the first place. 'Uh…' Sam said. _Damn, what do I tell them, what do I tell them… Come on, Sam, think! Would be a little easier if the room stopped spinning, I think._ He took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself.

'Sam? What happened to you? This wasn't caused by a branch, was it? This… this is a knife wound, Sam! Whatever happened to you?' Zach's voice sounded strained. 'Oh my God, Sam, you must've had it last night too, when you got back… And I didn't even notice…'

Sam realised he had to give them some kind of plausible explanation, so he went for the first cover story that popped into his mind. 'I, er… I got mugged. And when I didn't want to give them my wallet, they… they sort of pulled a knife on me.'

'Yeah, I can see that,' Zach said dryly, trying to mask his concern. 'But those sutures… surely you didn't…'

Sam looked down, his hair shielding his eyes from Zach's questioning gaze. 'Yeah, I did. My Dad taught me how, a long time ago. And… I don't have any medical insurance.'

Zach looked at him as if he were an alien. _He looks at me like this now… How much worse will it be if he ever learns the truth? No, I can't ever let them know. _Then Zach seemed to make up his mind about something, he rose and grabbed the car keys from the desk. 'Becky, put the gauze back on, we're taking Sam to see Richard. I'll get Sam down, you fetch the car and bring it as close to the entrance door as possible.'

'No, Zach, it's ok, I'll just clean it up again, it'll be ok,' Sam protested.

'No way, Sam, I'm not leaving you to deal with this on your own. And don't worry, Richard is ok, he's my cousin, he'll help you for a very small fee. I'm helping him out in his garden once in a while, so if it's a problem, you can always give me a hand mowing the lawn once you're better. End of discussion.'

Realising that there was no way Zach was going to let this go, Sam shrugged in defeat. _Dammit. Have to figure out more to tell that doctor. But Zach is right, I can't deal with this on my own… If only Dean or Dad were here, they would have known what to do… Dammit! Why can't I ever do anything right?_ Then all thoughts disappeared as Zach helped him stand and gently draped his right arm over his shoulders, supporting him out the door and down the hallway towards the front entrance. _Huh, lucky that I slept with my jeans and shoes on_ Sam thought detachedly. They had to stop a couple of times on the way when Sam's dizziness threatened to overtake him, but finally they made their way to the door and, with Becky's added help, down the front steps to the car, where Sam gratefully sank down in the passenger seat. Becky hurried around to take her place at the wheel, while Zach jumped into the back seat. Neither of them commented on the dark patch of dried blood that was visible on the driver's seat.

_I guess I should apologise for that. I'll have to remember that later. Not sure I can actually say anything coherent right now. Guess going to the doctor isn't such a bad idea after all, I don't feel that good._ He rested his head against the window, not realising he had fallen asleep until Becky gently shook him awake. 'Sam? We're here.' He looked at her confused, then looked out the window at the low white building in front of the car. 'Huh? Oh. Ok.'

The door beside him opened, and Zach gently took his arm. 'Come on, Sam, let's get you inside and checked out, ok? I called ahead, he'll see you right away, it's really his day off, but I told him it was serious.' With Zach's help, Sam managed to stand up, swaying on his feet as the black spots once again danced in front of his vision. He leaned heavily on Zach on their way to the door, which was opened from the inside by a thirtyish man in a white coat. 'Hi Zach, Becky. Bring him along here.' He pointed towards an open door a ways down the hallway. _Why does it always have to be the door farthest away?_

Once in the room, Sam sank gratefully down on the exam table, wanting nothing more than to lay back and give in to the oblivion that would release him from the physical and emotional pain that was tearing him apart inside. 'Hey, son, stay with me, ok? I need to know what happened to you, what symptoms you have, ok?' the doctor _what was it Zach said – Richard?_ said. Sam blinked, trying to focus on him. The doctor looked at Zach and Becky. 'How about you wait in the kitchen? Go ahead and make some tea or coffee if you like. You know where everything is. I'll take good care of your friend here.' Becky looked at Sam in concern until Sam nodded slightly, then she and Zach left.

When they had left the room, Richard looked at Sam. 'Ok, son, tell me what's wrong with you and when everything happened. Zach mentioned a knife wound?' Sam nodded, pointed towards his side. 'There. Last night. Cleaned it with Iodine, then sutured it. Also a couple of broken ribs, I think. And a knock to the head, but that isn't a problem.' The doctor looked at him as if saying 'let me decide that', then gently moved Sam's t-shirt upwards to look at his side and back, flinching slightly at the sight of the huge dark patches that showed where Sam had impacted with the walls. He carefully touched Sam's ribs, determining where the broken ones were, then moved on to remove the gauze from the wound. And froze. _Great. Now the interrogation starts. I'm so not up to that right now. I wonder if he'll let it go if I play delirious? Wouldn't be that hard to do, really._

'Son… Whatever happened to you?'

'Got mugged. Didn't want to give in to them. Made them angry,' Sam answered, slurring his words. _Did that on purpose. Yep_.

Richard raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't ask Sam to elaborate. Instead, he looked closer at the wound, then asked 'did you suture this yourself?'

Sam nodded, looking at the doctor from underneath half-closed eyelids. 'Don't have medical insurance. My Dad taught me how.'

The doctor shook his head, mumbling something about fathers needing to teach their children to seek help when necessary, not to play Florence Nightingale on themselves. 'Did you take any painkillers? Antibiotics?'

Sam nodded again. 'Painkillers. No antibiotics.'

The doctor looked at him, then shook his head again, huffing slightly. 'I hope they were good.'

Sam shrugged. _I guess they were, only not for this kind of injury. And I think they've mostly worn off already._

He felt the doctor putting back the gauze and gently releasing his t-shirt, then, as if through a daze, heard him enquire about the head wound. Trying to make his voice obey his commands, he slurred 'back o'head' in answer. Then he felt two strong hands grip his shoulders, giving him a slight shake.

'Hey, son, stay with me, ok? I need you awake to answer my questions, ok?'

Sam struggled to open his eyes. 'K,' he said. 'Water?' he added, suddenly feeling terribly thirsty in spite of his nausea.

'Of course. Can you stay sitting up if I release you?' Sam hadn't realised until then how much he'd leaned into the doctor's supporting grip. He pulled himself upright a little, leaning heavily upon his right arm, then nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. _Don't think moving my head – or any other part of me – is a good idea right now. I don't feel so good. Guess coming here was a good idea after all._

When Richard returned with a glass of water, Sam tried without thinking to lift his left arm to grab it, but the movement sent a white-hot stab of pain through his body, blocking out everything else. When he finally managed to breathe through it and defeat the darkness threatening to overwhelm him, he found himself once again supported by Richard. Embarrassed by his show of weakness, Sam tried to pull back, but the doctor didn't release his hold on him.

'Easy, son. Drink this first, then I'll let you lie down, how's that?' He held the glass to Sam's lips and helped him drink a few swallows. After swallowing the water, Sam started to lay down with help from the doctor, but before he managed to do so, he felt the bile rise in his throat, and unable to prevent the heaving of his stomach, all the water resurfaced. Then the agonizing fire that the muscle spasms from his stomach caused in his ribs and wound consumed him and he knew no more.

_**To Be Continued**_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thank you again for reading and for all the wonderful reviews I'm getting! Also a huge thank you for all the alerts and favs!!! And of course a huge thank you to my beta MuffyMorrigan who sets those plot bunnies spinning in my head. _

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter 7**

Past

Palo Alto

When Sam came to, the first thing he registered was the fact that he was lying in a bed beneath a soft sheet. Then he noticed the light sound of movement beside him. He fought to open his eyes, struggling to defeat the heaviness lying upon his eyelids. When he finally managed to force them open and blink a few times, he glimpsed a figure slumped in the chair beside him.

'Dean?' he asked weakly.

The figure in the chair started at the sound of his voice, Sam started to reach out a hand towards his brother, then suddenly stopped as the realisation hit him. _No, it isn't Dean, Dean's in the hospital, because of me… But who, then? And what happened? Where am I? I remember… I remember the doctor… Water, then pain…_ His mind flinched at the memory of that pain and he started breathing more lightly, not wanting to risk jolting his side or ribs again.

'Hey, mate, you're awake!' He recognised the voice as Zach's.

'Yeah, sort of… Where am I?' Sam was relieved that his voice seemed a little stronger. _I'm in the hospital… Oh my God, no, please no, not where…_

'Stanford Medical Center. We brought you here after you passed out at Richard's place. Seriously, Sam… Why didn't you tell us it was that bad? Even if you didn't want to go to an ER, we could still have found you a doctor… Richard told us how difficult it would have been to suture that wound… God, Sam… How… How did you even manage to do that?'

_Thank God I'm somewhere else. And stupid of me not to think about going here in the first place. Brilliant thinking, Sam. But what do I tell him? I can't tell him the truth, he'd think I was crazy and leave…_ The thought of being alone in the hospital frightened him more than he cared to admit, even to himself. _I've never been alone in a hospital before, Dean's always been there…_ The ache that the thought of his brother caused in him almost took his breath away. He closed his eyes, fighting to contain the tears pressing behind his eyes. Without thinking, he drew in a shuddering breath, then immediately regretted it as the movement brought a myriad of aggrieved nerve endings back to life. Trying to breathe through the pain, he couldn't stop a groan forming in his throat.

'Sam?' Zach's worried voice sounded on the other side of the haze of pain that threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness. 'Hey, Sam, you ok?' Sam tried to nod, fought to stay conscious, but Zach's voice wasn't enough, wasn't the right one, Sam started to float off again, unable to stay without his brother's voice and hand to keep him anchored.

He woke up again the next day, still feeling weak and slightly nauseous but less fuzzy-minded. He turned his head to look at the chair beside his bed. It was empty. _Of course it's empty, what did you expect? That they would mysteriously show up? They don't even know I'm here, and even if they did, they probably wouldn't come anyway. Dad would think that being in the hospital over such a small thing just proves what a wuss I am._ He ignored the tiny voice in his head that tried to tell him that maybe he was being a little unfair. _Dean would probably want to be here, but he's got more than enough on his plate… I'm sorry, Dean, I hope you're ok! I have to figure out a way to call the hospital, I have to know…_

His thoughts were disturbed when the door opened. For a second he felt hope burning in him, but it was soon quenched when Zach's doctor friend entered. _Richard, wasn't it? Never did get a last name_. The doctor smiled at him. 'Hey, son. Good to see you're awake. You gave us all quite a scare there. Hope you aren't planning to pull a stunt like that in the near future. There's no shame in asking for help with something this serious, ok?'

_Yeah, tell that to Mr. Drill Sergeant Winchester_. Sam nodded. 'Promise. And thank you for your help!' A memory suddenly came back to him and he felt the blood rise in his face. 'Uh, erm, I'm, er… I'm sorry about what happened…'

The doctor looked at him in confusion, then his eyes widened in understanding and he smiled at Sam. 'Oh, that! No worries, son. I've seen worse. And anyway, you didn't even hit me, you know.'

Sam flashed him a small, grateful smile, then asked, 'So… What exactly is wrong with me? When can I go home?'

'Whoa, easy now! You're not going home for the next twenty-four hours at least. Your fever's gone down some, but you're still fighting a serious infection, and you were seriously dehydrated, not to mention that it seems to have been some time since you'd last eaten. The doctors had to re-open and clean out the wound before suturing it back together. And they've wrapped your broken ribs as best they could without putting pressure on the wound. You're getting IV fluids, antibiotics and painkillers, and they're monitoring your fever closely. But like I said, you seem to be improving, the last day's sleep has done you good, it seems.'

_Hang on, what did he say?_ 'Day?' Sam asked incredulously.

'Yes. Zach and Becky brought you to see me yesterday morning, and now it's 2 pm. You've been here for a little over a day, and apart from being briefly awake yesterday evening, you've been out like a light.'

_Oh my God, I've been out of it for more than a day! Dean! I hope he's ok, I have to call the hospital and ask them… What if… what if something like the other day has happened again? What if… No! He's ok, he has to be. He was getting better.__ He's ok. _

Sam realised the doctor was looking at him, waiting for a response. 'Sorry, it… I'm a little surprised to hear that,' Sam said. He paused. 'I guess I really did need that sleep. I do feel better now.'

'That's good to hear. Now, son… Do you want to tell me more about how you got that wound? I really think you should report it to the police, you know.' Richard looked at him, the concern evident in his eyes.

_I feel bad lying to him, but I can't tell him the truth, and I can't tell him some fabricated story when I don't have anything to base it on. Better just to tell him nothing._ 'Not much to tell except what I've already told you, I'm afraid… I didn't really see the guys, they were wearing hoods, I didn't see their faces.'

Richard looked at him appraisingly for a few seconds, then nodded as if accepting that he wasn't going to get any more information out of him. 'Well, nothing to do about that, I guess. I just wish the ones who did this to you would get what they deserve.' He sighed, then patted Sam on his arm. 'Better get back, my patients probably miss me. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. And Zach and Becky wanted me to tell you that they will be around later after classes.'

Sam nodded gratefully. 'Thank you again… For everything.'

'No worries. I'll expect you and Zach to take good care of my garden next spring, deal?'

Sam smiled. 'Deal.'

The doctor nodded his goodbye and went out the door, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. _I wonder if Dean feels like this too, this emptiness… Probably not, Dad will be there with him, or bring him stuff to read. If he's awake, that is. But of course he is. He has to… Oh Dean, please be ok. God I wish you were here._ He lay staring at the ceiling, thoughts of his future without his family tormenting his mind, before he finally fell into a restless sleep.

_He felt like he was floating, his consciousness flickering, patches of sensations getting through to him, but nothing being connected, nothing making sense. There was pain, there was noise, there was heat, there was coolness, there was weightlessness, there was a heavy weight on him. Then suddenly there was a voice that he could hold on to, a beacon in the confusing whirlpool of sensations that was constantly sweeping him off into turmoil. He went for that voice, held on to it like an anchor, feeling how that hold enabled him to pull himself out of the whirlpool, up towards the light, towards the voice, towards where he knew he ought to be. Then he felt a reassuring warmth on his hand, and he was pulled the rest of the way to the surface. When he opened his eyes, he found Dean looking at him, worry and concern evident in his eyes. When Sam tried to smile, he saw an answering smile on his big brother's face. 'Hey, Sammy. It's good to have you back!'_

Sam opened his eyes, for a moment savouring the feeling of safety that always accompanied the presence of his brother. Then the reality of his situation came crashing down upon him as he turned his head and once again saw the empty chair beside his bed. All he wanted to do was turn over and burrow his face in his pillow to hide the tears that started spilling from his eyes, but fear of the pain that such a movement might cause him held him paralysed in place, the tears instead flowing out the corners of his eyes and down into his hair. He brought his right hand up to cover his face, using a corner of the sheet to dry his eyes, but the tears just kept coming, the trauma of what he had seen and felt over the last few days finally being too much. He did his best to control his breathing so as not to cause himself more pain, and apart from a few gasps that he couldn't control and which sent shafts of pain through him, he managed to avoid the blinding pain of earlier.

After a few minutes, his tears slowed and his breathing eased off. At that moment, Zach and Becky came through the door. _Great. Perfect timing, just in time to see weepy Sammy Winchester._ He felt his face go red as he looked at his friends, but the contempt that he had expected to see didn't appear. Instead, Becky rushed to his side, grabbed his right hand and gave it a squeeze. 'Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry we couldn't be here earlier, we had classes – everyone misses you! – and then, well, we figured we'd better do something about the blood on the front seat before anyone saw it and started asking questions! I didn't even consider how it might be for you to wake up here on your own, I'm so sorry, Sam!'

Sam looked at her in confusion, then her words started to sink in. _They miss me? What? But they hardly know me…_ Then Zach came into his line of vision, holding out a couple of magazines and a novel. 'Didn't quite know what you wanted, but I bought the newest Preston and Child novel. Look here what it says: "A MARVELOUS WORK…COMPELLING…RICH IN DETAIL…THE SCIENTIFIC THRILLER AT ITS VERY BEST." Thought that would be right up your geeky alley.' Sam smiled at him, for a moment unable to speak, overwhelmed by the concern that his friends were showing him. _You are so not going to cry again, no way. Stop behaving like a child._ He found his voice again. 'Thank you… both of you. And, really, it's ok, it isn't that bad being here, the nurses are sort of hot, and very nice.' _Good. Divert the conversation, find some safer ground, less prone to girlish tears now._

They spent the next couple of hours chatting, Zach and Becky telling him what had been going on in classes and among their friends, and Sam telling about his visit from Richard. Zach also jokingly told him how they had been unable to get all the blood out of the front seat so he'd had to go out and buy new upholstery. 'But no worries, mate, I'd been planning to do that for ages anyway – you just gave me an excuse to do it now!' Sam tried to convince him to let him pay for it but Zach wouldn't hear of it, brushing off Sam's continued attempts to raise the topic again. Finally, when visiting hours drew to a close, Sam asked Zach if he could borrow his cell phone to make a call before they left.

'Sure,' Zach said, handing him the phone. Sam looked at him in embarrassment, not wanting to ask them to leave but unwilling to have them listen in on his conversation. Becky understood his dilemma and rose, nodding towards the door. 'Come on, Zach, let's go get some coffee.'

When they had left, Sam dialled 411 to get the information, then asked for the number of the hospital where Dean was admitted. He then dialled the number and went into the whole 'my cousin's admitted' routine, praying that the answer he got would be the one he wanted. When the woman came back on the line, he was relieved to hear her unworried voice. 'He's improved markedly these last couple of days, the doctors expect him to be able to leave in a few days' time.' Sam thanked her, then sank back into his pillows in relief. _He's ok. He's fine, he's ok. _

Shortly after, Zach and Becky returned, both carrying cups of coffee. 'Sorry, Sam, we wanted to bring you some, but the nurses wouldn't let us. Not even a vanilla latte.' Sam shrugged and smiled briefly, then handed Zach back his phone. 'Thanks,' he said. 'For everything, I mean.'

'It's ok, mate, no sweat. That's what friends are for, you know.'

Sam nodded. 'Yeah, I know.' _Actually, I don't. Well, maybe now I do. But never before. I've never had friends like that before. _

Zach and Becky looked at each other, then Becky cleared her throat. _Uh oh, here we go. Please, can't you just let it go? I don't really feel like talking about it now. But I guess that's too much to ask for._

'Sam… We know that you don't talk about your family, but you clearly miss your brother… Is there any way we can contact him and tell him that you're in the hospital? I mean – he'd want to know, you know. I'm sure of it!' Becky looked at him with concern.

Sam shook his head. 'No, sorry. I appreciate your effort, but he's got enough on his plate. He doesn't need to worry about me.' _And anyway, he doesn't want to see me. Can we please change the subject? I don't want you to see how painful this is for me. I don't want you to see how unable I am to do anything without my brother. I made my decision, now I have to live with it._

'Sam?' Zach's voice was soft. 'He'd want to know.' _Maybe he's right? Maybe Dean would want to know. But I can't put this on him right now, especially since it's my fault that he's in the hospital in the first place. How do I convince them to let this go?_ With a huge effort he steeled himself, patching up the crumbling walls shielding his soul from friendly eyes. The he looked up at them and took a deep breath. 'No. He wouldn't,' he said bleakly.

_Please believe me. Sorry, Dean, I don't want to make you look bad in their eyes, but you know how it is – sell a lie to buy the truth. And I need to keep that truth to myself, I can't let them know, can't let them see, because the questions would start and I can't… I can't stand that, that would make me break and call you. And I can't do that. I have to go through this on my own._

'You don't mean that.' Becky's voice was horrified.

'Yes, I do. He doesn't want to know, he doesn't need to know.' Sam looked her in the eye, hoping that he would manage to pull it off. _Maybe all those years of lying to people's faces will pay off after all. Practice makes perfect, and I've had a lot of practice. Please believe me, Beck, please let it go._

Becky looked at him appraisingly for a moment, then she nodded, apparently accepting his words. 'If you say so, Sam. But… Well, you don't have to go through this on your own, you know. We're here to help you, ok?'

Sam swallowed, touched by the concern and commitment in her voice. _Are you trying to make me cry, Becky? Because you're doing a quite good job, then._

He flashed her a small grateful smile, for a moment at a loss for words. She seemed to understand, though, because she smiled back at him, then said: 'We have to leave now, visiting hours are over, but we'll be back tomorrow, ok? And maybe we'll be able to take you home, Richard said you might be well enough by then to get discharged.'

'Sounds great!' Sam replied. 'I'll be going crazy if I have to stay here for more than a day, I hate hospitals!' _Ooops. Shouldn't have said that._

If Zach and Becky caught the deeper meaning of his words, they didn't acknowledge it. They just smiled and with a 'See you tomorrow, then!' went out of the room.

When they had left, Sam went back to sleep, only waking when the nurses came in to check on him and to bring him dinner. Later, he started reading the novel, grateful that Zach had picked one that managed to capture his attention and distract him for a while. _Hmm. I agree with that reviewer, this is great!_ When at last he went to sleep, he again slept fitfully, his dreams full of Dean, old memories mixed with new and ending with the nightmare visions of Dean dying, by his knife and in the hospital. At one point he woke himself up by screaming Dean's name, and the night nurse came running into his room. Realising what was the matter, she offered him a sleeping pill and he accepted, on the reason that if he didn't get any sleep, he wouldn't be better the next day and might not be allowed to go home.

He felt quite refreshed when he woke up the next morning, and during the day he felt much calmer than he had the days before. The thought of not seeing Dean or his father again still lay in his stomach as a constant ache, however, and he shied away from thinking about the consequences of his decision. When Zach and Becky arrived that afternoon, they brought Richard with them, and after questioning Sam on how he felt, he convinced the doctor at the hospital that it would be ok to let Sam come home. To Sam's disgust, he was ordered into a wheelchair and driven down to the parking lot where Zach's car was waiting for him, but none of the others would listen to his continued protests that he was quite capable of walking on his own.

When they came back to the campus, Richard gave him a bottle of painkillers and some antibiotics, with strict orders to take them as prescribed. Then they settled him into his bed in his dorm room, at which point he was quite ready to go back to sleep, having been forced to admit to himself that he would probably need a couple of days' bed rest more before he would be up and about again.

Waking up later that evening, he suddenly realised that he had not checked his cell phone for messages since getting back. It had been lying on the floor of this room since his collapse days before, so the battery had gone flat. Plugging it into the charger, he waited for it to turn on again, slightly disappointed to find no new messages. He did find a couple of missed calls from the day before _must be before the battery died_, from a number he didn't recognise. He tried dialling it, but got no answer. Shrugging, he called the hospital to check on Dean, then laid the phone on his bedside table within easy reach. He read for a couple of hours, then went back to sleep.

The nightmares were back full force. Dean taking care of him, him waking up in hospital drawn to Dean's voice, then Dean being tortured by the ghost, dying with the knife embedded in his chest, then in the hospital bed being resuscitated. He would wake up screaming, then go back to sleep, only for the nightmares to start all over again. At one point he woke up, sensing someone beside him, and with hope in his voice he asked 'Dean?', only to feel a pang of grief when Zach's voice answered. Zach helped him take a couple of painkillers, then stayed with him until he went back to sleep. The nightmares continued until in the early morning he finally gave up hope of getting any solid sleep that night, the terrible night once more having worn down his defences, laying him open to the myriad of painful thoughts that had been kept at bay the day before.

When Zach came to check on him in the early morning, he could take no more and begged to be allowed to borrow his car for a short run to do an errand. Zach would hear nothing of it considering Sam's condition, so in the end Sam asked him in desperation if he would be willing to take him for a drive without asking any questions. Zach looked at him in confusion, but noting Sam's dishevelled state, he agreed, figuring that Sam would get worse being forced to stay in bed than he would if taken for a ride in the car.

They arrived at the hospital shortly before 9, and just when they were about to turn into the parking lot, Sam notice the Impala parked close to the front entrance. _That means he expects to get Dean out of there now… I'm too late! _Asking Zach to park in a lot across the street from the hospital, he watched when a few minutes later the two familiar figures emerged, Dean leaning slightly on his father. John gently helped Dean into the car, then walked across to the driver's seat, slid in behind the wheel, started the car and drove away.

Neither of them saw the tall, dark-haired figure sitting in the car across the street, tears falling unhindered from his eyes. Just as he didn't see the sleek black car taking a detour around the Stanford campus before heading north towards a new motel, a new hunt.

_**To Be Continued**_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Sorry I'm late updating, real life got in the way for a while. As always, a huge thank you to everybody who's read, reviewed and added the story to alerts and favourites. __Also a huge thank you to my brilliant beta MuffyMorrigan – you rock, sis! _

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter 8**

Present

While Sam talked, Dean had started pacing the room again, this time more violently, his movements ragged, jolting, his inability to contain the emotions that Sam's tale had brought up very obvious. Sam looked at him, his big brother's distress piercing through his own distress and guilt.

'Dean? What's the matter?' he asked in confusion, his concern growing when he heard Dean mumbling as he paced back and forth in the small motel room.

Dean continued pacing, not acknowledging that he had heard Sam's words.

Realising that somehow he had been the cause of Dean's behaviour, Sam rose to interrupt his brother. 'Dean! Would you please tell me what's wrong?' _You're freaking me out here a little, Dean._

Dean finally seemed to notice him and stopped his pacing, but he did not look at Sam, rather, he stood still as a statue, his eyes glued to the carpet before him.

'Dean?' Sam's voice rose a notch, confusion and even slight fear evident in it.

Sam took a step towards him and reached out a hand to shake his brother's shoulder, then he hesitated, afraid of the reaction that might cause, and he let his hand fall again. 'Dean?' he asked again.

_Yeah, Sam, I wouldn't want to touch me either, I'm such an ass, I wasn't there for you when you needed me, if it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't… And I'm so not going to __lose it in front of you. I'm NOT!_

He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat that had formed while Sam told him about his collapse and subsequent stay in the hospital. To his dismay, it didn't disappear, rather it grew when he glanced at Sam sideways, seeing the worry and _is that fear?_ on his face. _Oh, God, Sam, I'm sorry!_ He tried to find his voice around the lump, but when he spoke, it sounded more like a croak than an actual word. He cleared his throat and tried again after clenching his teeth to once more fight back the tears that threatened to seep from his eyes.

'God, Sam… To hear what you went through, how terrible it was for you… And I wasn't there, I wasn't there for you…' He grew silent when the guilt and pain that the thought of his brother alone, _hurt, sick_ in the hospital caused in him once more reared their heads. He felt himself withdraw into himself, but he was unable to stop the words from wanting out. 'To think of you there, in pain, alone, God, Sam, you could have died, and I wasn't there…' _It's killing me to know what happened and to know that you were there all alone… No, not alone, you had Zach and Becky, and thank God for that, but I wasn't there to help you through it… The thought of you waking up in the hospital all alone… I should have been there, I should… But I wasn't… _'I wasn't there…' He repeated the words as a mantra, as if saying them, acknowledging the guilt inside him, would somehow ease the pain that it caused him.

'Dean, what are you talking about? You couldn't have known, you couldn't have done anything, don't blame yourself, ok? It was my own fault, not yours, not anyone else's.' Sam's voice hitched at the last words.

Dean shook his head. 'No, Sam, it was my fault. If I hadn't been too busy convincing myself that you were ok… And I knew… Somehow, Sammy, I knew, I felt that you weren't… But I didn't listen to myself… I can't believe I was so stupid! What would I have done if you'd… if you'd… and I wasn't there, and they wouldn't even have known how to contact us… God, Sam, you could've died!' _And all because of me… You got that wound because of me! Because I let my guard down, because I let that spirit get the better of me…Sam, you almost died because of me! You almost died without me there… Oh God, Sam, I'm so sorry! _The thought that he had almost lost his brother back then took his breath away and sent a light tremble through his entire body. To hide it, he resumed his pacing, now traversing a smaller space since Sam was standing in his former path. Soon after, he took up his mumbling again.

Sam, realising he had to do something to pull Dean out of the shell that he had retreated into, realising that it was his story that had put him in there, once again tried to get through to his brother. 'Dean, please listen to me! Don't blame yourself, hell, I could've just called you, let you know… But I thought… I thought you wouldn't…' _What is he saying? Dean? He sounds so upset… Maybe… maybe he…_

At last Dean seemed to hear him, but that didn't make him stop his ramblings, he just raised his voice a little, letting Sam hear what he was saying. 'I could have avoided it, Sam. Those days, those years, I could have avoided it. But I thought… God, Sam. I thought you didn't want to pick up your phone. I thought you…' He stopped and looked at Sam, a new understanding in his eyes. 'Was that… That must have been how you felt when… And all the time it was because you were unable to, not because you didn't want to…' _God, I'm such an idiot. How could I ever think that he didn't want to see me? Stupid, stupid mistake, and how it's cost us… I'm sorry, Sam, for this, for not being there, for those years… Can you forgive me, little brother? I'm sorry I wasn't there for you in the hospital, I'm sorry I wasn't there all this time… And all because of something I said…_

He suddenly turned away from Sam again and started pacing again like a lion in a cage, his breathing growing harder and harder. Finally he grabbed a pillow from his bed and threw it across the room with all his force. Then he stopped, breathing heavily, looking at the pillow as if berating it for not shattering on its impact with the wall.

'Dean?' Sam tried again. 'What did you mean…? Those calls… They were from you? But… No one picked up when I tried to call back…' _Could it be? But no, he's so angry…_

Dean turned his eyes on Sam, trying to control his breathing and the emotions raging inside him. 'I never knew you'd tried calling back… I guess I was out of the room at that time – I was going a little stir crazy, you know, started going out to check on the nurses once in a while.' He tried, and failed, to make his voice sound light, humorous.

_Dean… I know what you're trying to do, but you don't have to put on an act for my sake. If that rage you're showing is directed at me, then please tell me and I'll… I'll go away again. I'm sorry for putting this on you now, for causing you this pain. I shouldn't have told you. I've screwed up again, haven't I? I don't blame you for being angry with me. Hell, I'm angry with myself, have been for a long time. And… I have even more reason to be so now. Only that exact piece of information I can never share with you, because if you don't hold me in contempt now, then you surely will if I tell you about Jess…About how I didn't save her…_

Dean suddenly noticed Sam standing in the middle of the room, looking at him, seeming a little freaked, his earlier tears still not completely dried on his face. _God, he looks so young sometimes… So vulnerable. And when I think about him alone in that hospital, and at home afterwards…_ The guilt settled upon him like a heavy blanket, dampening his show of emotion, forcing him back into himself. _I have to do something, I have to make him understand… Maybe if I tell him about those days, how I felt… Maybe then he'll understand that I never wanted that break between us…_

'Sam… Sammy, please sit down, it's ok. I'm sorry.' _For more than you'll ever know._

Realising that Sam was still rooted to the floor, Dean walked to the table and sat down, hoping that might make Sam do the same, and he was relieved when a few moments later, Sam took the few stumbling steps back to his chair and sat down across from him.

'Sam… I wasn't angry with you back then. I was hurt that you'd left us, sure, but I never… I never wanted that silence between us. But when I made those calls and you didn't pick up, I thought… I thought that was what you wanted…' _And I have always given you what you wanted, Sammy. That's my job… Take care of you, keep you safe and happy. Seems I failed badly there, didn't I?_ Once again the thought that Sam might have died back then, so close to him yet so unreachable, stabbed through him like a physical pain.

Sam looked at him, hope once again dawning in his eyes, fighting with the well-known fear and guilt. 'You thought… But… Does that mean…?'

_Finally I seem to be getting through to him._ 'Yes, Sam. I missed you. Missed you like crazy, to tell you the truth.' _And that takes the prize for chick-flick moment of the month! But I think he needs to hear it._ 'To tell you the truth, those days in hospital were hell. Apart from the hot nurses, of course.' He smiled a small, crooked smile, then became serious again. 'And, Sam…' _God, Sam, please don't hate me for this confession I'm about to make._ 'I knew… I felt that something was wrong… But I didn't listen to myself, I let Dad convince me that I was just imagining things…'

He paused, then started telling Sam about those days in the hospital.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Past

Near Palo Alto

When Dean woke up, he was quite sure he would rather have stayed unconscious. The moment he was conscious enough to merely consider moving a muscle, it felt like every single fibre in his body started protesting and his brain tried pounding its way out through his skull. The breath caught in his throat, any attempt to control his breathing sending new cramps through his abdominal muscles and out to the rest of his body. Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm and heard his father's familiar voice.

'Easy, son, try to relax, the nurse is here, she'll give you something for the pain, just hold on a little longer, then it'll be better.' _Hope you're right, Dad, because this is as close to unbearable as I've ever had._ He didn't even notice the nurse giving him the painkiller in his IV, but moments later the pain receded and breathing became easier. He turned his head slightly to look at his father. _He looks pale, and his eyes are red… What? Why?_ 'Dad? Is something wrong? What's happened? Is it Sam?'

John looked surprised, then said 'No, Dean… Nothing's wrong… Don't worry.' _Yeah, sure, Dad, that's why you won't meet my eyes._ But before Dean could question his father any further, the need to sleep, to heal, overwhelmed him again and he drifted off.

A few hours later, he woke up again, the pain less intense this time and his mind clearer. He looked at his father slumped in the chair beside him, sleeping. _I hope he's ok, I don't know how much the spirit banged him up last night… I can't really remember what happened… It was there, it was throwing things at me, I think… Which must be why I feel like I've been used as a punching bag. But I remember… Sam?_

'Dad?' His voice didn't hold much strength. He tried again. 'Dad?' John started in the chair, then straightened and looked at his son.

'Dean? How are you, son? Are you in pain?'

'No, it isn't bad. Dad… How's Sam?'

John looked at him with confusion on his face. 'Sam? I don't know, I haven't spoken to him since he left.'

'No, Dad, he was there last night… I saw him, I heard him…' Dean's voice faded away in confusion.

'Son… You've been pretty out of it since last night, and with everything that's happened… Sam wasn't there last night, you burned those bones and got rid of the spirit, and right on time too. You got that SOB, saved our asses, but it messed you up pretty badly.'

Dean frowned, trying to make his father's words correspond to what he remembered from the night before. Then his mind caught on to what his father had said. 'What do you mean, with everything that's happened?'

Guilt and regret flashed across John's face in that instance with the realisation that he had said too much. He sighed. 'Well, this morning… Don't worry, you're fine now, but this morning you… They…And I wasn't…Well… You had a heart attack, and they sort of… had to bring you back.'

Dean was surprised at the unusual hesitancy in his father's voice, then he realised the significance. 'You mean… I died?' His mind shuddered at the thought.

'I… Yes. But only for very few moments, they brought you back pretty easily.' The words tumbled out of him, then he clammed up again, the guilt consuming him. 'I… I wasn't here yet, God, Dean, I wasn't here… They told me when I got back.' John looked at his hands. 'Dean… I'm sorry I wasn't here, I should have been. I shouldn't have left you.'

'Dad, it's ok. You couldn't know it would happen. No one could. Don't blame yourself. I didn't even notice it happening.' He tried to console his father, storing away the fear that his father's revelation has caused in him. _I nearly died! Alone… I guess I should be thankful that I wasn't awake, that I didn't notice it happening. I wish… When it happens, when it really happens I don't think I'd want to be alone. But I don't think I'd want Dad or Sam to see it either. And I don't think I'd want to watch them die either. I can't even imagine what that would feel like. That must be the most terrible experience ever. _Without realising it, he drifted off to sleep again.

He didn't see his father finally letting go of the tears that evidenced the terrible fear that followed the realisation that he had almost lost his oldest son earlier that day, only a few months after having driven his youngest away from him. He knew that without Dean, the rift between him and Sam would never be mended. He hid his face in his hands, the worry for the son lying in the hospital bed combining with the worry for his estranged son being so close yet so unreachable.

Dean became aware again some hours later, drawn to the surface by a well-known voice and a warm sensation on his hand. As if through water, he heard the voice talking to him. 'If you knew how much I've missed you since I left…' He faded again, then once more re-surfaced to listen to the voice. 'I can't do this alone, not knowing where you are or what you are doing.' The voice got muffled. Dean tried to listen harder, to stay with the voice. 'I can't live with that, Dean. But I can't live without you either'. _Sam? Is that you? Are you here? How?_ Then the voice suddenly stopped, and his hand only felt the cold air. _No, Sam, please stay, where are you going? Don't go, Sam, please don't leave me._

The silence did not last long, though, as soon after he became aware of a gentle rumbling voice talking to him. _What is he saying? Sam? I think Sam was here… But no, I thought that last night as well, and Dad was positive that he wasn't there… What's that?_

'I think you should call him when you wake up, you know. Maybe let him know you're in the area.' _What? No, Dad, not when I'm like this, Sam would be freaked. He might even feel that it's his fault for not being around, I know him…_ 'No,' he struggled to get the word out. 'No!'

'Dean? Are you awake? What?'

'I said no, Dad. Don't call him. Not now. Don't want… see him now.' _Damn, can't even speak properly. I don't want Sam to see me like this. Maybe I'll call him up later, maybe when we're in the area again. But I won't do it now, he might feel obliged to come back and I don't want him to do that. He's made his choice to follow his dream, and I'm not going to spoil that for him. I'm sure he's ok, he was always able to make friends if he set his mind to it. And with that geeky mind of his, he'll probably be the teachers' favourite already. Or rather professors'. Guess little brother's moving upwards in the world…_

He was distracted from his thoughts by his father's continued talking. Then, when his father went back to the motel, snippets of what he'd said came floating back to him. _What did he say about the spirit? No, Dad, I didn't… I torched the bones, yes, but it still came at me… I let my guard down and paid for it, I guess. Teach me not to become complacent, eh? But I still think that Sam… But no, it can't have been him, I must have been seeing things. God, I wish he were here. I don't think I've ever been in the hospital without him before. Now who can I tell about all the hot nurses?_

With thoughts of his brother still playing in his head, he once more drifted off to sleep.

He spent most of the next day resting, sometimes in a deep sleep, sometimes lightly dozing. John was there during visiting hours, filling him in on a hunt Bobby had called about and looking through national papers to search for potential hunts for the two of them once Dean had recovered sufficiently. Late in the evening, after his father had gone back to the motel for the night, he lay staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep now that he wanted to. As it always did lately, when his mind wasn't otherwise occupied, it turned to thoughts about his little brother.

_I wonder what you're doing right now, Sammy? You ought to be on some café with your friends, but knowing you, you're probably holed up at home with your homework and a pile of books. You've got a home now, Sam. How does that feel? I hope you like it. Maybe… Maybe someday I can come visit you. Maybe find you there with a hot blonde on your arm. I shouldn't wonder, chicks dig the broody, geeky type, and I know I've never told you this, but those puppy-dog eyes of yours have girls swooning. You just never notice it._ He smiled at the thought. _I wish you luck, little brother. Although it hurts like hell not having you around. But you always knew what you wanted, and you always went for it._ An image of a four-year-old Sam screaming his head off until John gave in and placed him in Dean's bed came to his mind. His smile widened, and he fell asleep with the memory of the two of them sleeping together, feeling safe, in his mind.

When he next woke up, it was late morning and his father was once again sitting in the chair beside his bed. When John saw that Dean was awake, he smiled at him.

'How're you feeling, dude?' he said.

'Hungry,' Dean answered. 'Is that coffee I'm smelling?'

'Yeah, but you're not getting any… Doctor's orders.'

'Since when do you care about doctor's orders?' Dean asked with a frown.

'Since now,' his father said, his voice leaving no room for discussion. _Huh. What's eating him?_

'So, when am I getting out of here?' Dean said, changing the subject.

'In a day or two, depending how things go… and how you behave.' There was a twinkle in John's eyes, caused by the relief of knowing that his son was improving well.

'Hey!' Dean said in an offended tone. 'I always behave!'

John laughed. 'Yeah, I know, that's what worries me. Seriously, though. You had a close call two days ago, and that wound needs time to heal, not to mention that your concussion needs rest. So be patient, ok?'

'Yeah, yeah, I'll be a patient patient. Hey, who do I have to charm around here to get some breakfast?'

Dean's question was answered when a tall blonde came in with a tray laden with food. 'Good morning, Mr. Harrison. Glad to see you've chosen to join us.' She smiled at John. 'Let us know if he doesn't behave, then we'll take measures, ok? He needs his rest.' _Did she just wink at Dad? I can't believe the hot nurse prefers Dad! I must look like shit, probably the stubble. I need to do something about that!_ Then he noticed that John was fighting very hard to contain his chuckles. He turned to look at him, trying to maintain the offended look on his face, but he failed when faced with his father's mirth-filled eyes.

_When's the last time I've seen him like this? I can't even remember. Not since Sam left, that's for sure. And not for some time before that, what with the constant war zone those two created. I wish Sam were here to see him like this. I don't think he realises that much of Dad's behaviour towards him lately was based on fear… A fear that I understand because I feel it too. Who knows what might happen to you out there on your own, Sammy? But I guess we both need to let you go. Guess you're not our little Sammy anymore. Not that I'm every going to let YOU know that I just thought that._

When he had finished breakfast, _I'd kill for a cup of coffee right now! Even hospital coffee_, he and his father chatted for a while about their next hunt. _This is kind of nice, actually. I can't remember the last time we've talked like this. I wonder how long it'll last. Probably not long, only until I'm back on my feet and we're out hunting again. Then the drill sergeant will be back._ He took a deep breath. _I don't want to ruin this mood, but I have to ask._ 'So, you heard from Sam?'

John looked at him in surprise. 'No, I haven't. Didn't expect to, either. How come you're asking, I thought you didn't want to talk to him?'

Dean shrugged. 'Just thought about him, that's all. So it probably wasn't him that called the other day, then.' _Why do I feel disappointed?_

'I don't know, but with everything that happened, I never got around to calling back. Probably just a contact, which means it doesn't matter now that the hunt's finished. But if it were Sam, he probably would have called you rather than me, don't you think?'

'Yeah, but my phone's trashed. But you're right, I don't think you're his favourite person right now.' _And with good reason, considering what you said to him that night. Although I guess Sam gave as good as he got._ He winced at the memory of the harsh words that his father and brother had exchanged and his own futile attempts to calm the waters. The pain that he had felt when his brother finally had had enough and walked out the door, their father yelling to him to stay gone, suddenly came back to him full force, the longing for his brother's presence an almost physical ache in his heart. _How many times have we been apart for more than a few days, Sammy? Not many. In fact, I can't even remember us ever having been apart for this long._

Dean felt himself starting to doze off again, so he told John to go back to the motel and do some research. Then he let himself drift off again. _This is a little annoying, how can I hit on the nurses when I'm sleeping all the time?_

A few hours later, he woke up again, this time to an empty room. He looked around him, considering pushing the call button just to chat with a nurse, then decided against it, thinking about what the blonde nurse had said that morning about taking measures. _Although I wouldn't mind her taking certain measures…_ He smiled at the thought, then cast about for something to occupy himself with. His father had left him a couple of magazines, one about classic cars and one about guns, but he was unable to focus on reading, his attention getting drawn away every time he heard footsteps out in the hallway. _This is stupid, I know he isn't going to come, he doesn't even know that I'm here, so why do I keep expecting him to show up? Ok, admit it, you miss him like hell… It just isn't the same without him around. It's like I've lost my main purpose in life and I don't know where to turn to find it again. Sometimes everything we do just seems… empty… and pointless. I know it isn't, and I know I shouldn't feel this way, because what we do is important and we save a lot of people doing it… But it just isn't the same without you, Sammy._

He threw the magazines back onto the bedside table in disgust over their inability to distract him from his thoughts. He heard footsteps approaching his room again, pausing outside the door, _maybe? Sam? _but then felt a stab of disappointment when they continued away from him again. He shook his head at his reaction, then his restless nature got the upper hand and he decided that he needed to get out of the bed before going stir crazy. _Wonder if they have any hot nurses on duty? They would definitely make better company than these bloody walls. I'll even settle for medium hot, just as long as she's willing to talk to me… And stop rolling your eyes at me, Sammy, I saw that._ He sighed, again feeling the pang of the lack of his brother beside him. _Wish you were here, Sam. I bet you never thought I'd think that, right? And now I've started to talk – well, think – to you… I definitely am going crazy. I need some company, preferably female, and preferably soon!_

He slowly rose from the bed _at least I'm wearing a t-shirt and trousers, not one of those awful gowns_, then padded towards the door. _Wonder where my clothes are? I better have Dad bring me some clean ones, from what he told me, the ones from the other night are probably a little the worse for wear. And some shaving gear, my stubble's starting to itch. And although chicks dig stubble, I think there might be a very fine line between stubble and the beginnings of a beard. _He opened the door slowly… and came face to face with the blonde nurse who seemed to have taken a liking to his father.

'And where exactly do you think you're going, Mr. Harrison?' she said.

'Uh…' _Damn, damn, damn!_ 'The common room?' he said, trying his best to imitate his little brother's imploring eyes. _He always seems to be able to get away with such things. I don't know how he does it, but everyone seems to believe him when he flashes those damn eyes._

The nurse looked at him as if trying to determine whether he was lying, then said 'You shouldn't be up and about yet, Mr. Harrison, but seeing as you're already out of bed and it's only a few steps down there, I'll let it pass for now. But next time, ask the doctor before getting out of bed, ok?'

_Thank you__, Sammy, it worked!_ He smiled at her. 'Of course. And please, call me Dean.'

She smiled slightly. 'Right, Dean, off you go, and no running around after you get there, otherwise you know what will happen.'

_Ok, didn't work that well. But at least I'm out of bed. And I'm sure the view's much better from down there._ He slowly walked the rest of the way down to the common room. When he turned the corner, he saw to his horror that most of the chairs were occupied by elderly people, and the TV was showing Discovery Channel. _Great, freaking great! I've ended up in the geriatric ward. Just my luck! And Discovery? Who actually watches that stuff voluntarily? Except for geeks like Sam, of course. God, I can't believe this is happening to me! _Sighing, he settled into an armchair anyway. _I swear, if any of those old crones start talking to me, I'm going to suffocate her with a pillow._ Luckily, none of them did, and he turned his attention to the TV, which was showing a documentary on America's largest roller coasters. _Wow, that looks cool! Hmm it isn't far from here. Maybe one day Sam and I…_

He suddenly remembered Sam's fifteenth birthday which they had spent in an amusement park. John had been away on a hunt, and Dean had surprised his brother by planning out the entire day, first going to the amusement park for the day and then spending the evening in their motel room with pizza and a movie. They had gone on the roller coaster over and over again and afterwards had laughed their heads off while walking through the 'Haunted House', pointing out to each other the countless factual mistakes in the exhibits there and planning how to best take care of the monsters shown there. _Sam seemed so carefree that day… Almost happy. I wish… I wish he'd been more like that. I hope he's getting to experience that again now._ He felt a momentary pang of grief and regret at the thought that Sam might experience that without him now. _I wonder what you're doing, Sam? Do you think about me at all? Or are you so caught up in your new life that there's no time for that? I wish… I'd like to keep in contact, you know. Call you up once in a while, just to chat. Maybe drop by. And maybe we can patch things up between you and Dad as well._ The need to talk to his brother suddenly overwhelmed him, and he rose quickly _ouch, guess that was a little too quickly_ then walked back to his room and the telephone there. _I have to get Dad to buy me a new phone. Oh, he's going to love that._

Once back in his room, he pulled the phone close to the bed, then picked up the receiver to dial Sam's number, but before he punched in the final number, he hung up again. _What am I going to say? 'Hi, Sam, how are you?' sounds a bit weak, doesn't it? And he'll think at once that something's up… I can't let him know I'm here and hurt, I have to tell him something else… He's so damn perceptive. Which I guess is a good thing when we're – were – researching, but which is a pain in the ass when you can never hide anything from your little brother._ He smiled, remembering the many times he had been able to convince his father that his days had been spent researching when the reality was something quite different; something which Sam had been able to guess every single time. Dean still felt grateful for the many times Sam hadn't told on him, no matter what he had been doing. _But that's what little brothers are for, isn't it?_

He sighed, then picked up the phone again. _Who cares what I say, I just need to talk to him. I'll just take it as it goes._ He dialled Sam's number and was surprised when it went straight to an automatic message. 'Sorry, you have reached a number that is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and dial again,' an impersonal voice told him. _What the hell? Sam? Did you actually…?_ Dean dialled again to make sure he hadn't dialled a wrong number in his haste, but he merely got the same message. He wrote down the number on a piece of paper, checking to see if he remembered wrong, but he knew the number by heart and knew he had made no mistakes. He dialled one last time and got the same message and realised with a sinking feeling that Sam had in fact changed his number. He paled at the though of the degree to which his little brother had severed his ties to his family. _Maybe he really doesn't want to talk to us anymore? I knew he was angry with Dad, but this?_ He sat staring at the phone for a while, then an idea occurred to him. _No, hang on… Maybe that's not the reason. Maybe it's because the old number was created under an alias… Maybe he's gotten himself a new one, under his real name. He would do that, now that he's putting down his roots there – here._

He dialled 411, got through to Information, asked for Sam's number _Yahtzee. I knew it! And of course it's listed under Samuel Winchester. Sounds much more lawyer-like that Sammy, eh, little brother?_ and before he could decide against it, he dialled it, holding his breath as he heard it ringing.

And ringing.

And ringing.

'Hi, this is Sam, please leave a message…'

'Dammit, Sam, why didn't you pick up your damn phone?' He slammed down the receiver, surprised by the intensity of emotion that the sound of his brother's voice had caused in him. _Well, he's probably out with his friends, at some noisy café, unable to hear it. Or he's fallen asleep with his head in his books, his oblivious when that happens._ He tried to quell the instinctive worry that started to grow inside him because of his inability to reach his brother. _Calm down, this is stupid. He's just busy. Nothing to worry about._ He lay back in his bed, closing his eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but the worry for his brother kept nagging at him. 30 minutes later he tried calling again, but with the same result. _Should I leave a message? No, wouldn't know what to say. Speaking to him would be better. Messages are so awkward. And, hell, I want to hear his voice. _

He hung up again and sat for a while staring at the wall, caught up in memories and thoughts of Sam and himself over the years, and for the first time really contemplating what the future might look like without Sam at his side, not just for a few years at college but also afterwards if Sam really did mean to follow a career in law. Happiness that his brother was living out his dream was warring with his worry that his brother was on his own for the first time in his life and his sense of loss that his brother and best friend was no longer at his side.

Shortly after, his father came back, looking markedly more cheerful for having spent the day researching their next hunt. Dean let him talk about it for a while, trying to sound interested, trying to hide the worry for Sam that just wouldn't go away. It became harder and harder to do, though, and he felt himself shut out his father's voice as his mind blocked out the uninteresting information that it provided and instead gave in to the darkness of worry that emptied his mind of conscious thought and left him with pure emotion in its place. Finally he could not take it anymore and he interrupted his father.

'Dad… Have you heard anything about Sam? From him, I mean?'

John stopped talking and looked at him in surprise. 'No, I haven't… Not that I expected me to call me. Why do you ask?'

_I have this feeling__... Something's wrong, I know it… _'I just wondered… Hey, can I borrow your phone for a sec?'

John nodded, pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Dean. 'Oh, by the way – I found the pieces of your phone. I think it's history, but we may be able to salvage the SIM card. I'll get you another one soon.'

Dean distractedly nodded his thanks, scrolling through the list of incoming calls on the phone. Most of them seemed to be from Bobby, and he realised to his dismay that his father had already deleted the number that had tried calling him a couple of days earlier. He handed the phone back to his father with a sigh. _No luck there, dammit! Do I tell him? No, I'm probably just over-reacting._

John looked at him questioningly, then replaced the phone in his pocket without saying anything, realising what Dean might have looked for.

'I'm sure he's ok, Dean. Nothing's gonna happen to him here. That spirit seems to have been the only supernatural entity in the area right now, and that's taken care of.'

Dean nodded, a little surprised at how well his father knew him. _But I guess I shouldn't be surprised; when it strikes him, he's as perceptive as Sam._ 'Yeah, you're right.' He sighed, then looked up at his father again. 'So, tell me about this spirit – Bobby said it might be a young boy haunting the place?' They went back to discussing the hunt, and if Dean still had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, he didn't reveal it to his father.

When John had left later that evening, Dean tried calling Sam's number again. His worry didn't diminish when this time, it went straight to voice mail. He tried calling a couple of times later, but with the same result. _Why does this worry me so much? He's probably just holed up with a book or a paper for tomorrow. Maybe he's even gotten himself a girlfriend. Nah. It's the books for sure. He always walls himself in when he has an important paper due. But I can't shake this feeling…_ He tried distracting himself by watching TV for a couple of hours, but not even _Spinal Tap_ could catch his attention. He finally fell into a fitful sleep, haunted by dreams of Sam's departure and the countless fights between John and Sam over the years where more often than not he had been caught in the middle.

_**To Be Continued**_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: As always, thank you for reading, reviewing and adding to alerts and favourites! Your support keeps me writing! Sorry I haven't been able to get back to you in person yet, I'll be sure to do so shortly! Again, a huge thank you to my brilliant beta MuffyMorrigan! _

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Chapter 9**

Past

Near Palo Alto

When Dean woke up the next morning, he felt dishevelled and shivery, and when the nurse came with breakfast, he found he was only able to swallow a few bites before he started feeling nauseous. All his physical symptoms were improving, his wound was healing nicely with no signs of infection, and the headache that his concussion had caused was almost gone. _Where's this freaking nausea coming from, then? Typical, everything else is improving, now I can't eat. Must be caffeine withdrawal. I need to get myself some coffee today!_ No one would ever make him admit that his nausea grew every time he thought about Sam. He tried calling him several times during the morning, but every time he just got his voice mail. _Dammit, Sam, where are you? What are you doing? Please pick up the phone. Or just turn it on so I'll at least know that you're ok and able to do so._

John came by around noon, and they chatted for a bit about the hunt and about a bout of demonic activity that Pastor Jim had called John about the night before, getting a weird look from the blonde nurse when they hadn't heard her approaching and thus didn't manage to change topic before she was within hearing range. John grinned a bit sheepishly at her. 'Planning a story for a novel,' he said. Dean struggled to contain his chuckles when this seemed to heighten her interest in his father even more and she launched into a long speech about her favourite authors, most of which Dean was sure his father had not even heard about. _Sam, on the other hand…_

The thought of his brother brought him abruptly back to reality and seriousness. When the nurse left again, Dean voiced his worry to John, but as expected he brushed it off, stating what Dean had already thought, that he was probably just immersed in a paper and had shut himself off from the world. Not wanting his father to worry, and even less wanting the nurses or doctors to think he would not be able to leave the hospital the next day, he forced down his lunch, fighting the nausea that had returned at intervals during the day together with the tight knot of fear in his stomach.

When John left again a couple of hours later, Dean again tried to distract himself by flicking through channels on the TV, stopping when he reached a Godzilla marathon. _Yay, Godzilla vs. Mothra, my favourite! Sam of course would nag me about the remake being better. No taste at all when it comes to high culture!_ He sighed, then fought down the nausea that once again threatened in his throat. _I don't like the fact that I can't reach him. No matter how immersed he is in his paper. Or rather – I don't think that's the case at all. Something's wrong, I can feel it. I don't know how I know, I just do._ He dialled Sam's number again, but it went straight to voicemail. On the off chance he tried Sam's old number, but he had no luck there either.

_I don't like this. I really, really don't like this. Something's wrong. I can feel it. What's wrong, Sammy? Are you ok? Please be ok. I don't know what I'd do if… This whole you-being-away-at-college thing sucks, you know that? It's bad enough that I can't be there to watch your back, but this… I never thought I'd feel this way, that I wouldn't be able to reach you… That I wouldn't know what you're doing, if you're ok…_

Realising that his thoughts were getting him nowhere except onto a higher level of stir crazy, he rose from his bed and put on the jeans and t-shirt that his father had brought him earlier that day. _Nice, now I almost feel human again. Wish he'd remembered to bring my shaving gear, stubble is ok, but my beard's almost as long as Dad's right now._ Then he walked slowly out of the room. _Hope I don't run into that blonde nurse, she's worse than a prison warden. Not to mention that she's bound to tell on me to dad._ He rolled his eyes at the thought as he made his way towards the cafeteria. There, he headed for the counter, his mouth watering at the thought of coffee. He ordered his usual, black, ignoring a voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Sam's, that told him that he ought to abstain from drinking coffee until the doctors told him it was ok to do so.

Business was slow, so he spent some time chatting up the barista, ending up in a much better mood when he finally left, not least because of the napkin in his pocket bearing her phone number. _Not bad for a patient with a three-day beard_. He grinned to himself.

Reality struck him again when he entered his room. Several unanswered calls more to Sam didn't diminish his worry, and he was just about ready to sign himself out and call for a cab to take him to the Stanford campus when his father arrived that evening. Noting Dean's distress and realising the reason for it, he tried to calm him down.

'He's ok, Dean. He's just wrapped up in a paper. You know how he gets, and he couldn't know that you were going to try and call him right now.'

'It doesn't feel right, Dad.'

John sighed. 'I know. It doesn't feel right at all that he isn't here, that he's out there on his own.'

_That wasn't what I meant, Dad. But I'm not sure I can explain that to you._ Instead of voicing this thought, he voiced another that had been eating away at him since the day before.

'He changed his phone number. The old one doesn't work anymore.' He deliberately kept his voice steady, delivering the piece of information as if stating a neutral fact rather than the heartbreaking suspicion that tore at him, telling him that his brother had cut off their only means of reaching him, that he hadn't even let them know that he had gotten a new phone number.

'What?' John's voice was surprised.

'Yeah. It's out of service. He's got a new one.'

John sat still for a moment, then he exploded. 'The stupid idiot, what is he thinking? That phone is our only means of contacting him, he knows how important it is to keep the communication lines open in case of emergencies!'

'Dad…'

'It's a stupid, childish way of getting back at me, I know it! Damn that boy, every cheap point he can get to show how he disregards what I've taught him.' John rose abruptly from his chair and started pacing the room, throwing his hands into the air to underline his words.

_Here we go again… Guess I shouldn't have told him…_

'Dad… Maybe that's not the reason. Maybe he just wanted a number in his real name, you know.'

'What's wrong with the old one? I got him that one, dammit!'

_Ah, that's part of it as well._

'Dad, you know Sam, you know what he wants. He wants normal, he wants to be a lawyer, which also means that he wants everything to be proper and legal. And a pre-law student at Stanford with a phone number in the name of an alias? That just doesn't fit into Sam's world there.' _And neither do we, apparently, _Dean silently added.

'Yes, what HE wants! How about what we want? How about what he ought to do? How about where his proper place is? He's one of us, Dean, he can't run from that! Dammit!' He slammed his fist against the wall.

_Shit, I should never have told him. Hope he doesn't run off and drag Sam back here. Or maybe I should let him do just that, because then at least I'd know that he was ok._

'Dad, you know Sam doesn't feel that way. He's never wanted this life that we lead. And he's made his choice, and we have to accept that!' _No matter how much it hurts._

'Accept that? Accept that he deserts us? That he deserts the hunt? How do you want me to accept that, Dean?' John's voice grew harder with each word, making the last question almost accusatory in its tone.

_Great, even when Sam isn't here, I still end up being caught up in their quarrel. __Right now I don't really blame you for leaving, Sammy. There's no reasoning with him when he's in this mood. _

'And he didn't even tell you, did he? Selfish little bastard. I would have thought he'd at least tell you, but no no…' John kept up his pacing and rambling. Dean didn't catch everything he said, only that the gist of it was ranting against Sam for not letting Dean be able to contact him.

_Yeah, Dad, I know that, you don't really need to tell me that. It hurts enough as it is without you rubbing it in.__ But is he right, Sammy? Do you really want me to stay away? Don't you want to talk to me anymore? Are you really that angry with me?_

'Dad.'

John continued his ramblings.

'Dad!' Dean raised his voice to break through to his father, who finally stopped.

'WHAT?' John said, anger in his voice.

'Calm down, or else you'll get the doctors in here. And anyway there's nothing you can do about it now. Sam's gone, and he isn't coming back anytime soon. And you have to accept that. You can't bring him back, he'll just take off again if you try.' _And that will make everything worse than it is now. Although come to think of it I'm not sure it can get any worse. Sam doesn't want to talk to me…_ He struggled to wall in the emotions that those thoughts caused him, knowing that his father wouldn't approve of him showing them. _Funny how it's ok to show anger and hate, but grief or pain? No sir, those we hide away deep inside where no one can witness our weakness._

John stood still, looking at him for several minutes, breathing heavily, trying to get himself under control. When he finally spoke, his voice was once again even, expressing none of his earlier emotion.

'Yeah. You're right. He's made his choice and he'll have to take the consequences. When he doesn't want to speak with us, we won't speak with him either. Anyway. The doctors say that they're going to let you go tomorrow, so I'm figuring I'll pick you up here at 9 a.m., what do you think about that?'

Dean nodded, happy to be able to leave the hospital soon but worried by his father's words. _So, that's how we play it? He's out of our lives now? Not agreeing with you there, Dad. I'm not going to contact him, but if he ever contacts me, I'll be more than happy to speak with him. God, Sammy, how can you… how could you make that decision? But I guess… maybe it's easier for you there with your new friends? I just thought… I just thought you would have time for me too, Sammy. Guess I was wrong._

'Sounds good, Dad,' Dean said, trying to make his face position itself in a small smile to accompany his words.

'Great. See you tomorrow, then,' John said, his voice gruff. Then he walked out the door.

Dean didn't see how, once he'd closed the door, John picked out his phone and speed-dialled Sam's number, nor did he see the tears in his eyes when he heard the impersonal voice confirming what Dean had told him, or the shaking of his hands when he deleted the number – and Sam's name – from the list of contacts in his phone.

When John walked out the door, Dean lay back on his bed, feeling exhausted yet filled with emotions that wouldn't let him rest. _Is Dad right? Is it because he doesn't want to see us or talk to us? But why then do I feel this way, why do I feel sick every time I think about him? Sam, I thought I knew you… But this new you I can't quite figure out. Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? God, Sam, just… please just be ok. I think I can stand being apart, but I can't stand being apart if something's wrong…_ The thoughts continued spinning around in his head, and not even another trip to the TV lounge could distract him. Late in the evening, he went back to his room and lay awake for a couple of hours before he finally fell asleep. His sleep was interrupted by dreams of hunts where Sam got hurt, and when Dean woke up the next morning he didn't feel rested at all, but he noticed that the nausea of the day before had almost vanished, enabling him to enjoy his breakfast, not least the cup of coffee that the blonde nurse allowed him.

_I wonder if I feel better because whatever might have been wrong with Sam is passing? Or maybe… maybe I'm just getting used to the idea of us being apart. No, I don't think I'll ever get used to that. We belong together, Sam, no matter if we're apart. I hope you'll realise that in time, little brother._

After finishing his breakfast, he dressed, shaved, _thank you, Dad, now I feel all better!_ and when John arrived he had barely walked through the door to Dean's room before Dean was on his feet and on his way out.

Only to walk smack into the blonde nurse who was waiting outside with a wheelchair. Dean looked at her in horror, then looked at the wheelchair, then back at her. 'No way… No way!!!' he gasped.

'You want out of here?' she asked, her face unsmiling.

Dean looked at John in despair. 'Dad, honestly, I can walk, there's no need for this!'

John shrugged, a small smile on his face. 'Hospital rules, Dean. And you know Amy won't let you out of here if you don't follow the rules.' John winked at the nurse. 'You get into the wheelchair or you stay for another day.'

Dean huffed in disgust, but got into the chair. _I'm so happy Sam isn't here to see this! Or maybe not. Having you here would be worth even this, Sammy._ When they got down to the front entrance, he held up a hand to stop the nurse.

'This is as far as this goes. I'm WALKING out those doors. No discussion,' he said.

'Ok, Mr. Harrison, I think I can let you do that. And may I say, it's been a pleasure looking after you.' She smiled at him, no trace of irony on her face or in her voice.

_I bet it has, especially when Dad was around._ 'Thank you,' he said, then turned and walked towards the Impala. _Ah, baby, good to see you again!_

John caught up with him and when they reached the car he opened the door and helped Dean into the passenger seat, then walked around the car to slide in behind the wheel.

'Dad…' Dean said hesitantly.

'Yeah?'

'Could we… could we swing by the campus? Just to, you know, maybe see if he's there, not to talk to him, just to see if he's ok?' _Please, Dad. I need to see him, I need to know that he's ok. Even if… even if you're right and he doesn't want to talk to us anymore, I just need to see him. _

John looked at Dean for a few seconds, noticing the bags under his eyes that hadn't been there the night before, then he nodded. 'Sure, son. No problem.' He turned the key in the ignition, drove out of the parking lot and headed towards campus. Dean didn't enquire how he knew the way without looking at a map.

Once they got there, they drove slowly past campus. The place was milling with students so it was almost impossible to determine whether Sam was there or not. In the end, they stopped near one of the dorms and asked a random student whether he knew Sam Winchester. By luck, he turned out to have classes with Sam and told them that he had seen him drive off with one of his friends a little earlier that morning. Dean breathed a sigh of relief at this. _Thank God, at least he's ok. Guess all my worry was for nothing, then. Guess you were just working on a paper, Sammy. Or maybe… maybe you really don't want to talk to us? Was that why you turned off your phone? But no, you wouldn't do that… would you, Sam?_

He turned towards his father. 'Dad, do you think… Do you think he really doesn't want to talk to us anymore?'

John sighed, then looked at his oldest son. 'I don't know, Dean. I really don't know. I hate to say it, but it does look like it, since he didn't tell any of us that he got a new number.'

Dean sat still for a long time after this, staring out the windscreen while they made their way out of town and started northwards. _Sammy… Can you really…? Would you…? How can you just cut us off like that? Don't you miss us at all? But I guess… I guess you have friends now… You can have your own life now, doing what YOU want to do. I just thought… Hell, Sammy, I thought I could be a part of that too, you know. I never thought…_ He clenched his jaw, forcing back the tears that threatened to seep from his eyes. _Dammit, stop this whining. I can't let Dad see this!_ He breathed in deeply, silently, through his nose a few times, slowly re-gaining control over his emotions. _Well, if that's what you want, Sammy, then that's what I'll give you. I won't try to contact you unless you want me to – unless you contact me first, that is. I wish… I wish things could be different, little brother. But you know I'm here for you, you just have to call, and I'll be there. I hope you know that. No. I know that you know that._

They crossed the last sign for Palo Alto.

_Goodbye, little brother. Be safe._

Then he turned down the volume on the stereo, turned towards his father and said, 'So, tell me again what Bobby said about this new hunt?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Present

When Dean stopped talking, Sam sat completely still for a long time, not quite daring to believe what his brother had told him. He finally managed to collect his thoughts enough to stutter a question.

'So… you really did try to call me back?'

Dean nodded.

Sam took a deep breath. 'Listen… I'm sorry about changing my phone number… One of the first things I did when I got there was to get myself a new number in my own name. I guess I just wanted to leave as many reminders behind as I could, you know, I tried to be as normal as I could. I didn't want to have anything around that might get people to start asking questions about my past or anything, so I wanted a local number. And also… you know, Dad got me that phone and the number a few months before I left… And I guess I just wanted to get rid of it for that reason alone… I didn't think… God, Dean, I'm sorry!'

Dean shrugged. They both sat in silence for a while, thinking about what the other had said, trying to make sense of the multitude of emotions that were raging inside them.

'So…' Sam said at the same time that Dean said 'Sam…' They both grew quiet again, then Dean nodded to Sam to continue.

'So, er… you heard me that day? In the hospital?'

'Yeah,' Dean said, then went on. 'God, Sam, if only I'd been more awake, I would have realised that you were really there, that Dad was wrong… I'm so sorry!'

Sam shook his head. 'No, Dean, don't take this upon yourself, none of this is your fault. If I hadn't been so out of it, I would have realised that you were only trying to protect me… from Dad, from knowing you were hurt.'

_And oh my God, he actually felt sick because I was ill? Does this mean… maybe this means that he feels that fear as strongly as I do? Maybe… maybe it really does mean that he wants us to be together? It's the helplessness that is the worst… that fear that something may be wrong and the inability to do something about it… Maybe he understands that? __But_ h_ang on, what was that he said at the end? Those words… 'you have friends, you can have your own life...' that's… that's almost the words that thing used…_ Sam suddenly rose from the table, slowly backing away from Dean, a frown scrunching up his forehead. When he reached the wall farthest from the table he stopped and just stood there, staring at Dean. _What… I don't understand. What should I believe? He sounds so sincere, and I want to believe him, but…_ Once more the shapeshifter's hurtful words resounded in his mind, causing him to shake his head in an attempt to get rid of them.

Dean looked up as Sam rose from his chair and noticed how the uncertainty and fear crept back into Sam's eyes, chasing away the hope that was there only moments before. _What? What did I say, Sam? What's the matter?_

'Sam?' he said, the confusion plain in his voice.

Sam was staring blankly in front of him, his gaze unfocused, his attention turned inwards. 'You… it said… those words it used… you really did think that,' Sam said, trying hard to stop the returned trebling in his body from being heard in his voice.

'What words? What are you talking about, Sam?'

Sam just shook his head, withdrawing further into himself.

_What is going on with him? That bastard, it really messed with his head. God, I'd like to go back and resurrect it just for the pleasure of killing it all over again!_

'Sam, whatever it said, it lied, ok? It may have used the same words – whatever they are – but it twisted them to suit its own purpose… which was to mess with you head, ok? Are you hearing me, Sam? Whatever it may have said, it wasn't real, ok?'

Sam, trying his best to hold himself together, replied with a small smile. 'Not even the 'he'd shag Becky if he had the chance' part?'

'Ok, maybe that part, but nothing else! God, Sam, I wish things had worked out for you, I wish you could have had that life – and I would have done anything to prevent what happened to Jess. I can't change any of that now, but, Sammy, please believe me when I say that I want us to be together now. We're a team, you and I, ok? And when we find Dad, we'll be stronger than any goddamn supernatural thing out there. You hear me? We're going to hunt down that thing together, and don't ever think that you aren't good enough to be with me and Dad, Sam.'

He saw Sam raise his head to look at him, hope once again fighting with the inner demons of insecurity and self-doubt that had been possessing his mind for all those years. _What else can I say to convince you, Sam? I want you here, with me… and with Dad. I want us to be together again, as hunters, but more than that as a family. Maybe… maybe that's what he needs to hear? God, I can't believe I'm even considering saying that. But if that's what it takes… The things I'm willing to do for that kid…_ He cleared his throat, trying to figure out how to say the words in the least soppy manner.

'Sam…' He paused.

'Sam, listen to me. I don't want you to leave, ok? And I don't want to leave you behind. I want us to be together, I want the two of us to find Dad together, and I want the three of us to hunt that evil son of a bitch together and kill it together. But…' _God, I can't believe I'm doing this._ 'But Sam, I want you here with me more than anything because you're my brother. Not because of that geeky mind of yours or your hunting skills or your amazing grades… Well, those too, but that's not the point. I want you around because you're my pain-in-the-ass little brother, and… it doesn't feel right when you're not around.' The final words tumbled out before he could stop them. _Are you listening, Sammy? I mean what I'm saying, you know. When you're not here, it's like part of me is missing. _

Sam finally looked Dean in the eyes, hope dawning in his eyes as Dean's words finally got through to him. 'Jesus, Sammy, for a college boy you can be a real idiot sometimes,' Dean said softly, 'How could you ever think I wouldn't want to see you? Damn our stupid Winchester ways sometimes, huh?' Then, realising what the one thing that might convince Sam of his sincerity was, he rose from his chair, walked over to Sam and placed his hands on Sam's shoulders. Then he gave Sam's shoulders a slight shake and drew him towards him in a hug. _Feels a bit awkward, I'll admit, but I think he needs this right now. Right, little brother?_

Dean's unspoken question was answered seconds later when Sam's arms went around him and he crushed his big brother to his chest, holding on to him as if his life depended on it. Dean returned the embrace, needing it as much as Sam did. _Don't worry, kiddo, I'm here for you. You can lean on me when you need to, when things get rough. I'll help you find yourself again, I know your life seems to be in pieces right now, but I'll help you put it – and yourself – back together again. And we're going to find Dad and then the three of us are going to hunt that bastard down and get rid of it for good, whatever it is. Do you hear me, little brother? The three of us. You belong with me and Dad, Sam, no matter what you think. You'll always be a Winchester, no matter what you choose to do. No one can take that away from you. And I'll always be here for you. You're not alone anymore, Sam._

_And neither am I._

_**To Be Continued**_


	10. Epilogue

_A/N: Well, here it is, the final chapter. Thank you to everybody who's stuck with me till the end, and thank you so much for your support during my first foray into the land of fanfiction writing! __A special thank you goes to my wonderful beta MuffyMorrigan who started the bunnies in my head and who has helped keep them running when all they wanted to do was sit down and eat carrots. _

_I'm currently planning and working on some other stories, among them a sequel in which John learns about what really happened during the hunt, and also another hurtSam story, so I hope to be back soon with more. If you have comments, criticism, suggestions, requests or anything else you want to contact me about, please feel free to review or drop me a PM, I live to improve, and every piece of feedback helps me develop my ideas and writing skills. _

_Anyway, enough of my ramblings - on with the chapter. :D_

**Hitting Walls and Getting Scars**

**Epilogue**

Present

Later that evening, Dean and Sam were sitting together in the motel room, eating pizza and watching a movie. Sam, realising that Dean might need to work off some of the pent-up emotions he was experiencing, had suggested that they go for a run, but Dean had steadfastly refused on account of Sam's bruised ribs. In the end, Sam had relented, knowing there was no arguing with Dean in his mother-hen mode and secretly relieved since his ribs and other bruises, not least his throat, were giving him enough trouble already.

Instead, they had rented a couple of movies, bought a six-pack of beer for Dean and soda for Sam ('Not going to let you drink beer, Sam, I know how you get on a cocktail of painkillers and beer, and it's not pretty. Not to mention you might scare our neighbours with all your singing.' Sam had huffed, replying with 'I was sixteen, Dean!', but had given in, not really feeling up to drinking anyway).

When the second movie ended, Dean started flicking through channels, not really finding anything interesting but not wanting to turn the set off and break the companionable moment. He ended up on some kind of history show that seemed to catch Sam's attention. He was relieved that his brother seemed to have calmed down after their talk earlier that day, apparently he had managed to get through to him and make him understand that he wanted him around. _I never thought he believed we didn't want to talk to him. How stupid that we wasted all those years… But we won't waste anymore. We're going to find Dad and be together again, the three of us. I guess it'll take a little work from both of them to learn to get along, but since I know now that they both want to, hopefully I can get them to work together at least._ He felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of the three of them hunting together again, and he felt a smile tugging at his lips.

_I wonder what Dad will say when he finds out that Sam was really there that night… Or, rather, those days. That he actually saved both our assess. Not bad, little brother. Not bad at all. But Sam, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, ever sew up a wound like that again, I'll kill you._ He looked over at his brother sitting on the other bed, smiling at something in the TV show. _I can't believe how close I… we… were to losing him back then, and we didn't even know it. Not going to let you out of my sight any time soon, Sammy. And I hope I can help you find yourself again. I know you're hurting right now, because of a lot of things, but I hope you'll let me help you._

'Hey, Sam?' he asked hesitatingly.

'Yeah?' Sam looked at him, the smile still on his face.

Dean almost regretted asking when he saw Sam's relaxed face, but he had already gotten Sam's attention and knew if he backed down, Sam would pursue him anyway until he told him what he was thinking about. _I can't ask him that one question right now, though. I'll have to ask him something else first…_

'Didn't Zach question about that morning? I mean when you saw us drive away?' Dean kept his tone light, not wanting to force Sam into reliving more painful memories from those days, but still curious as to how Sam had managed to explain his behaviour.

'Yeah, he did. But he already knew – or thought he knew – that things weren't good between us. And I told him that things were even worse between me and Dad. Which was true, you know. I told him that I'd heard from a friend that you were in the area and that you had been sick and admitted, but that I didn't want to worry you with my own condition when you were already ill. And…' Sam looked down for a moment. 'I told him that Dad might not let me see you.'

'You said that?' Dean kept his voice even, although he was a little shocked by that revelation.

'Yeah. I had to convince him to let it go, you know? And I couldn't tell him the truth… And anyway, I'm not sure it wasn't the truth, you know. After what he said…'

'Sam… No matter what, Dad would never have kept us apart if he'd known you were there.'

Sam shrugged.

_I better not go into that now, he's got enough on his mind right now. We'll take that discussion some other time._ 'So I guess that was why you were so sure that Zach hadn't killed his girlfriend?'

Sam nodded. 'Yes. I'd trust him with my life. Actually, come to think of it, he probably saved mine back then. If it hadn't been for him and Becky… Anyway. I couldn't really _not_ help them, could I?'

Dean shook his head. 'No, of course not. And I'm glad we helped them, even though that whole being wanted for murder thing sucked out loud.' _Not to mention that the thing almost killed you, Sam. I'd never have forgiven them for dragging us into this if that had happened._ He took a deep breath and spoke again before Sam turned his attention back to the TV. 'Sam… Can I ask you something else?'

Sam looked at him curiously, but Dean could see apprehension creeping into his body with a minute tensing of his shoulders. _He's so damn perceptive, I can't ever catch him off guard! But I guess that's an advantage in our line of business…_ 'Sam… You know you can tell me anything, right? That no matter what you tell me, no matter what you may have done or not done, it doesn't change anything. Right?'

_Where's this going, Dean? What… Oh my God, Dean, please don't ask me that, please don't…_ Trying to hide his apprehension, Sam nodded.

Dean took a deep breath before speaking again, trying to figure out how to approach the subject. _I can't ask him straight out, he'll just stonewall me like he did in Toledo…_ 'Sam… Did you hunt other things while you were at Stanford?'

Sam, taken aback by the unexpected question, looked at Dean blankly before his muddled thoughts produced an answer. 'Er…' _And how's that for an intelligent answer? I might as well have written a huge sign saying YES and hung it around my neck._

'Sam? Please tell me.' Dean used his no-nonsense-from-you-little-brother voice.

'Uh… Yes?' _Please, Dean, I don't really want to talk about this right now._

'Sam, for a college boy you're amazingly quiet sometimes. Which often means that you've got quite a lot to tell but don't want to do it. So. Spill.'

'Yes, I hunted. A few times. Until…' He swallowed. 'Until I moved in with Jess. Then I stopped and just let Pastor Jim know if there was any supernatural activity in the area.' _Please leave it at that, Dean, ok?_

Dean looked at him for a minute. _Oh, God, Sam, is that… is that your secret? That you hunted something, and someone died? But Sam, that wouldn't be your fault, just like nothing that happened to me and Dad was your fault…_ 'Sam…' He stopped, unsure how to phrase the question. 'Did… Is that… I mean, was that what you meant, about having to keep some things to yourself? Did something happen on a hunt?' _Sammy, if that is the answer, then please don't blame yourself. Bad things happen, sometimes you just can't prevent them. You said so yourself._

The surprised look on Sam's face soon told Dean that that was not the answer. 'No, nothing like that, Dean.' _Dammit, maybe I should have just told him a believable story and let it go at that. Not very fast thinking there. But he would have seen through it at once anyway. I could never lie to him. I may be able to keep the truth hidden, but I've never been able to lie. Guess he has some kind of instinctive lie detector gene that tells him when I try to do so. Maybe all big brothers are like that. But Dean… I'm sorry, but this is one thing that I can never tell you. You'd… and Dad… You'd think of me like I was some kind of freak… I know how you feel about anything supernatural, hell, I think about those things in the same way… And now… No, Dean, I can't ever tell you that. I can't risk… I can't live with you looking at me like that. I'm sorry._

'Dean… I'm sorry, but I have to keep this to myself, ok?' He looked at his brother, the pleading that didn't quite get out in his voice very evident in his eyes.

Dean sighed. _Guess there are limits to even his openness. I'll let it pass for now, little brother, but some day I'm going to know what you're hiding, because it's clearly a painful issue for you._ He nodded. 'Ok, Sam. But if it turns out your big bad secret is that you had a little quality time with your date on prom night, I already know that.' He grinned when Sam actually blushed a little, but he grew serious when he saw the brief flicker of pain that also passed across Sam's face. He cleared his throat, turning towards the TV. 'So, you want to tell me what's so fascinating and funny about some historical show?'

He was relieved when Sam actually laughed before answering. 'Dude, it's 'Blackadder', it isn't a documentary. Although you might actually be able to expand your actual historical knowledge from watching it, seeing as it isn't very developed at the moment.' _I know what you're doing, Dean, and I'm grateful for it. I'm not sure I can take any more revelations today or for many days to come._

_Yeah, I know what it is, Sam. And because I managed to make you laugh, I'm going to forgive you for that comment. You're going to be alright, Sammy, I'll make sure of that. But I think my knowing that secret is necessary. I guess you'll tell me in time__, though. Whether when you need to or when I manage to weasel it out of you. Be sure of that, little brother._

They settled down to watch 'Blackadder', Dean muttering under his breath at times and then laughing out loud at Blackadder's trial for witchcraft. 'Fathered a poodle? Dude, how evil is that?!' Dean shook his head, a huge grin on his face. Sam laughed with him.

Later, when the show had ended, they went to bed, both feeling more at peace than they had for a long time, reassured by the knowledge that the gap that had existed between them for years was slowly closing, now that they knew it was based mostly on a lot of misunderstandings rather than on the terrible, painful thoughts that they had believed for so long. Even more, what gave them this peace of mind was the knowledge that whatever they might have to face on the search for their father, they were going to face it together.

Four hours later, Dean woke up to the sound of his brother screaming Jessica's name in his sleep.

_**The End**_


End file.
